■    o    •       ill   L_>    •    •    e 


ARTHUR 

4 JONES/ 


REESE- LIBRARY 


;_.Jl_Jl_n, 


UNIVERSITY^  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

%eceivi\1       y^Z4y2/^U2^       ,  iSc)/. 
[ •■ .  z/^cressio/is  No.  (p  {pobO ■     Oins  No . 


THE   CRUSADERS 


THE    CRUSADERS 

AN  ORIGINAL   COMEDY        \l 
OF   MODERN    LONDON    LIFE 


BY 


HENRY  ARTHUR  JONES 

AUTHOR    OF 

"THE  DANCING  GIRL,"  "  JUDAH,"  "THE  MIDDLEMAN" 
"WEALTH."   ETC. 


Produced  at  the  Avenue  Theatre,  London 
ON  the  2ND  November,  1891 

OF  THE       ^f 

university! 

MACMILLAN    &    CO. 

AND    LONDON 
1893 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1892, 
By  MACMILLAN  &  CO. 


Typography  by  J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 
Presswork  by  Berwick  &  Smith,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


universitt)  MA)h) 

PREFACE 


In  some  foreign  picture-galleries  the  visitor  is  provided 
with  japanned  tin  "  blinkers,"  like  stereoscQpes  with  the 
glass  knocked  out,  through  which  to  examine  the  pic- 
tures. I  do  not  know  what  is  supposed  to  be  the  effect 
of  this  device,  but  I  fancy  thai  in  most  cases  it  simply 
serves  to  concentrate  the  attention  of  the  observer,  and 
so  to  intensify  his  vision.  That,  I  take  it,  should  be  the 
function  of  a  critical  preface.  It  should  neither  be  an 
arraignment  nor  an  apology,  but  simply  an  exposition. 
The  writer's  likes  and  dislikes,  his  prejudices  and  prefer- 
ences, are  neither  here  nor  there.  If  they  are  suffered  to 
peep  out,  that  is  only  because  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
human  nature  in  man.  The  work  of  art  is  there,  before 
the  reader's  eyes,  and,  by  the  act  of  publication,  submitted 
to  his  judgment.  Any  attempt  to  dictate  that  judgment 
would  be  a  self-defeating  impertinence.  All  one  can  do 
—  all  I  would  here  attempt  —  is  to  place  the  reader  at 
what  seems  to  be  the  right  point  of  view,  and  to  aid  him 
in  discerning  the  author's  intentions.  The  merit  of  these 
intentions  and  of  their  execution  is  entirely  a  matter  for 
the  jury. 


vi  PREFACE 

First  comes  the  question  of  categories  :  What  descrip- 
tion of  play  has  Mr.  Jones  set  forth  to  write?  He  calls 
The  Crusaders  a  comedy  ;  but  from  the  word  ^'  comedy  " 
we  nowadays  learn  nothing  more  definite  than  that  the 
stage  is  not  drenched  in  gore.  "Satirical  romance" 
would  perhaps  fit  the  play  as  exactly  as  any  label  of  equal 
brevity.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  not  primarily  a  drama  of 
individual  character,  but  a  sketch  of  a  social  group,  a 
study  of  a  certain  intellectual  and  emotional  tendency  in 
modern  life.  In  this  it  differs  from  the  most  notable  of 
Mr.  Jones's  previous  works.  Jiidah  and  The  Dancing 
Girl  were,  or  ought  to  have  been,  dramas  of  individual 
character.  They  obviously  sprang  from  the  conception 
of  the  spiritual  enthusiast  and  the  half-innocent  charlatan, 
the  reprobate  duke  and  "  the  beautiful  pagan."  In  The 
Crusaders.,  on  the  other  hand,  the  conception  of  the 
"  milieu  "  evidently  preceded  and  conditioned  that  of  the 
plot  and  characters.  The  germ  of  the  play  in  the  author's 
mind  was  not  a  personage  or  a  situation,  but  a  theme  — 
that  of  social  idealism.  Let  me  illustrate  this  distinction 
—  between  the  drama  of  character  and  the  social  satire  — 
by  a  reference  to  the  works  of  other  playwrights.  Du- 
mas's  Monsieur  Aiphonse,  Detiise,  and  Frfincillon  are 
dramas  of  character ;  Le  Deini-Monde  is  a  social  satire. 
To  the  former  class  belong  Augier's  VAvejituriere  and 
Les  Fourchainbault ;  to  the  latter,  Les  Effrojites  and  Le 
Fils  de  Giboyer.  Frou-fro7i  is  the  portrait  of  a  woman ; 
Le  Monde  oil  Von  s''ennuie  is  the  picture   of  a   coterie. 


PREFACE  vii 

Froii-froii  without  Gilberte  would  be  a  contradiction  in 
terms ;  whereas  in  Le  Monde  oil  Von  s'enmiie  no  single 
personage,  and  still  less  the  particular  thread  of  plot  on 
which  the  scenes  are  strung,  is  essential  to  the  author's 
conception.  Pailleron's  play  portrays,  not  a  passion  or  a 
character,  but  a  salon  or  a  cluster  of  salons,  a  corner  of 
society,  a  craze,  an  affectation,  a  foible  of  the  hour,  of  the 
day,  at  most  of  the  decade.  The  same  description  applies 
almost  exactly  to  The  Crusaders^  except  that  the  social 
idealism  with  which  it  deals  is  a  phenomenon  of  deeper 
and  more  abiding  interest  than  the  pedantry  ridiculed  in 
the  French  play.  I  will  go  further  and  say  that  there  is 
probably  no  larger  and  more  fruitful  theme  at  present  open 
to  the  dramatic  satirist  than  this  on  which  Mr.  Jones  has 
laid  hand.  The  banner  of  Social  Reform  serves  as  a 
rallying-point  for  all  that  is  noblest  and  basest,  wisest 
and  foolishest,  in  the  world  of  to-day.  Self-less  enthu- 
siasm and  self-seeking  vanity,  fanaticism  and  hypocrisy, 
magnanimity  and  pusillanimity,  the  profoundest  science  f~ 

and  the  shallowest  sciolism,  earnestness  and  affectation, 
paganism,  puritanism,  asceticism,  sensuality,  worldliness 
and  other-worldliness  —  these,  and  a  hundred  other 
phases  and  attributes  of  human  nature,  stand  forth  in 
their  highest  intensity  within  the  sphere  of  our  latter-day 
meliorism.  This  movement  is  in  truth  as  dramatic  an 
element  in  the  life  of  the  nineteenth  century  as  were  the 
Crusades  in  that  of  the  thirteenth.  It  is  for  the  jury  to 
determine  whether  Mr.  Jones  has  risen  to  the  height  of 


viii  PREFACE 

his  argument.     One  thing  alone  is  certain :  to  wit,  that 
he  has  not  exhausted  a  theme  which  is  compact  of 

Exultations,  agonies, 
And  love,  and  man's  unconquerable  mind. 

The  satire  of  The  Crusaders  —  this  is  a  matter  of  fact 
rather  than  of  opinion  —  is  contemplative,  not  militant. 
Mr.  Jones  writes  as  a  judicious  observer,  not  as  a  parti- 
san.    "  What  is  the  use  of  satire/'  some  ardent  spirits 
may  ask,  "  which   leaves  everybody's   withers   unwrung  ? 
The  satirist's  weapon  is  the  lash.     Satire  which  hurts  no- 
body is  the  merest  empty  persiflage."     But  are  contempt, 
hatred,  and  the  desire  to  inflict  pain  really  inherent  in 
the  idea  of  satire?     Is  there  no  virtue  in  the  genial  raillery 
which  throws  our  foibles  into  relief  without  arousing  that 
spirit  of  resentment  which  tempts  us,  in  sheer  defiance,  to 
persevere  in  them?     Mr.  Jones  has  done  his  best  to  be 
fair  to  all  parties.     He  has  embodied  —  one  might  almost 
say    symbolised  —  whole-hearted    enthusiasm    in    Philos 
[Ingarfield  and  Una  Dell.     The  imitative  idealism  which 
/arises  from  a  potent  personal  influence,  and  vanishes  with 
/  the  withdrawal  of  that  influence,  finds  its  representative  in 
'  Cynthia  Greenslade.      In    Mrs.  Campion-Blake  we  have 
I  the  good-natured  busybody  who  makes  philanthropy  sub- 
i  serve  her  social  ambition,  and  place  her  on  the  visiting- 
I  list  of  "the  dear  Duchess."     Lord  Burnham  is  the  genial 
'  cynic  who  has  no  ideals  of  his  own — has  he  not  "been  in 
Parliament  since  he  was  twenty-two"?  —  but  who  holds 
it  a  part  of  political  sagacity  to  humour,  and  perhaps  util- 


PREFACE  ix 

ise,  the  idealism  of  others.  Mr.  Palsam  is  the  narrow- 
minded  (yet  not  hypocritical)  moralist,  who  would  have 
all  the  world  virtuous  after  his  own  conventional  pattern, 
and  finds  in  scandalmongering  a  congenial  method  of 
making  himself  a  terror  to  evil-doers,  if  not  (and  this  he 
cares  less  about)  a  praise  to  such  as  do  well.  Finally,  we 
have  in  Burge  Jawle  the  necessary  opposition  of  pessi- 
mism to  meliorism,  of  the  quietist  to  the  radical ;  while  his 
satellite,  Figg,  typifies  the  craze  for  co-operative  hero- 
worship  which  has  of  late  been  so  rampant.  It  would  not 
have  been  easy,  I  think,  to  exhibit  within  the  compass  of 
three  acts  a  more  representative  group  of  social  "  cru- 
saders "  and  camp-followers.  Whether  Mr.  Jones  has 
made  more  than  a  superficial  study  of  his  types  is  a  ques- 
tion for  the  jury  ;  also  whether  he  has  been  quite  success- 
ful in  resisting  the  temptation  to  inartistic  extravagance 
of  caricature.  I  will  only  remark,  on  this  score,  that  the 
same  questions  force  themselves  with  no  less  insistence 
upon  the  readers  of  Le  Monde  ou  Von  s'enniiie^  a  play 
which  M.  Sarcey  is  for  ranking  among  the  perennial 
classics  of  the  French  stage. 

Now  let  me  note  a  technical  difference  between  Mr. 
Jones's  work  and  M.  Pailleron's.  So  far  as  story  is  con- 
cerned, the  French  play  may  be  classed  as  a  comedy, 
almost  a  farce ;  whereas  the  English  play  is  a  romance, 
almost  a  fairy-tale.  There  is  nothing  incredible  in  Le 
Monde  oil  Vo7i  s'enniiie.  For  aught  we  know,  the  inci- 
dents might  have   happened ;    their   probability  may  be 


X  PREFACE 

open  to  question,  but  they  do  not  conflict  with  common 
knowledge.  The  Crusaders^  on  the  other  hand,  is  as 
patently  fantastic  as  Piccadilly  or  The  Battle  of  Dorking. 
It  sets  forth  events  which  purport  to  be,  but  are  not,  mat- 
ters of  history.  They  may  be  more  or  less  possible  and 
probable,  but  their  "  factual  ^'  unreality  is  obvious  from 
the  outset.  Of  course  we  do  not  believe  that  the  events 
of  any  work  of  imagination  ever  actually  happened ;  but? 
while  witnessing  Forget-me-not^  or  The  Profligate,  or  Jii- 
dah,  we  lend,  or  try  to  lend,  to  the  occurrences  presented 
a  sort  of  provisional  credence.  In  the  case  of  The  Cru- 
saders even  this  provisional  acceptance  is  impossible. 
We  know  that  no  London  Reformation  League  ever  set 
about  its  task  with  a  million  and  a  half  at  its  back.  We 
know  that  there  is  not,  and  never  was,  a  rose-farm  at 
Wimbledon,  tended  by  five  hundred  East  End  seam- 
stresses. We  know  that  no  government  —  Tory,  Whig, 
or  Radical  —  ever  "  guaranteed "  such  a  man  as  Philos 
Ingarfield  as  a  fit  ^and  proper  personal-conductor  for  a 
consignment  of  "  ne'er-do-wells "  to  Costa  Rica.  We 
know  that  no  revolution  in  Costa  Rica  ever  led  to  a 
change  of  government  in  England  and  an  additional  two- 
pence on  the  income-tax.  If,  in  short,  we  are  to  place 
this  fable  on  the  common  earth  at  all,  it  must  be  in  the 
future,  not  in  the  present  or  past.  Mr.  Jones,  like  the 
authors  of  Looking  Backward  and  News  from  Nowhere, 
fantasticates  in  the  future,  though  his  future  may  be  con- 
ceived as  somewhat  nearer  than  Mr.   Bellamy's  or  Mr. 


PREFACE  xi 

Morris's  millennium.  And  it  is  here,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
that  Mr.  Jones  has,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  hit  upon 
a  technical  device  of  wide  application.  In  such  "fairy- 
tales of  the  possible  future"  the  dramatic  satirist  may 
perhaps  find  his  most  convenient  form  of  utterance. 
Even  the  genius  of  an  Aristophanes  might  shrink  from 
the  attempt  to  rescue  extravaganza  from  its  present  degra- 
dation ;  and,  failing  extravaganza,  quasi-realistic  romance 
may  prove  to  be  the  satirist's  readiest  weapon.  Observe 
that  I  do  not  attempt  to  determine  whether  Mr.  Jones 
handles  this  peculiar  weapon  with  all  desirable  grace  and 
skill.  That,  again,  is  a  question  for  the  jury.  It  may  be 
that  his  "  possible  future  "  will  seem  too  wildly  impossible, 
that  such  an  incident  as  Lord  Burnham's  renunciation  of 
his  racing-stable  may  be  held  to  out-fantasticate  fantasy, 
and  that  the  element  of  intrigue  and  serious  emotion  in 
the  latter  half  of  the  play  may  appear  out  of  keeping  with 
\the  general  tone  of  the  fairy-tale.  On  these  points,  and 
many  others,  I  offer  no  opinion.  My  effort  has  simply 
been  to  deprecate  the  Beau-Tibbs  attitude  of  mind,  and 
to  beg  the  reader  not  to  contemn  a  satiric  romance  be- 
, cause  it  is  not  "a  tragedy  or  an  epic  poem,  stap  my 
vitals  ! "  I  have  sought  to  bring  into  evidence  what 
Mr.  Jones  has  attempted  to  do,  and  how  he  has  attempted 
to  do  it.  The  merit  of  his  endeavour  and  the  measure  of 
his  success  are,  for  the  present,  matters  beyond  my  com- 
petence. 

"But   hold!"  cries   the   reader.     "In  the  very  fact  of 


xii  PREFACE 

writing  this  preface  (a  task  you  were  doubtless  ~  at  perfect 
liberty  to  decline)  you  commit  yourself  to  an  opinion  on 
the  merits  of  the  play.  You  assert,  by  clear  implication, 
that  it  is  at  least  worthy  of  serious  study  and  criticism."" 
Why,  yes ;  you  have  me  there.  Let  me,  then,  drop 
dissimulation  and  confess  that  when  Mr.  Jones  hon- 
oured me  by  suggesting  that  I  should  introduce  The 
Crusaders  to  the  reading  public,  I  willingly  consented, 
because  I  believed  the  play  to  be,  with  all  its  faults,  a 
piece  of  "live"  dramatic  work  and  a  step  in  the  right 
direction. 

WILLIAM   ARCHER. 

London,  October  12,  1892. 


AVENUE  THEATRE.  PLAYBILL  OF  THE  FIRST 
PERFORMANCE  OF  "THE  CRUSADERS"  ON  MON- 
DAY,  NOVEMBER  THE    SECOND,    1891. 

Avenue  Theatre,  Mr.  Henry  Arthur  Jones  begs  to  an- 
nounce that  his  new  comedy  of  modern  London  life,  in  three 
acts,  called  The  Crusaders,  will  be  played  to-night,  November 
2nd,  1 89 1,  for  the  first  time. 

"  Rely  on  the  laws  of  gravity.  Every  stone  will  fall  where  it  is  due.  The 
good  globe  is  faithful  and  carries  us  securely  through  the  celestial  spaces. 
We  need  not  interfere  to  help  it  on.  We  need  not  assist  the  administration 
of  the  universe."  —  Emerson's  Essays. 


Lord  Burnham,  the  Foreign  Sec- 
retary       

The  Hon,  Dick  Rusper,  his  son    . 

Philos  Ingarfield 

Mr,  Palsam,  Vice-President  of  the 
London  Reformation  League  . 

Mr.  Burge  Jawle,  the  Great  Pessi- 
mist Philosopher 

(By  the  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Beerbohm  Tree.) 

Mr.  FiGG,  the  founder  of  the  Jawle 
Guild 

Rev,  Algernon  Portal,  Curate  of 
Saint  Botolph's,  Wimbledon    . 

Worrell 

Cynthia  Greenslade   , 

Mrs.  Campion-Blake,  Hon.  Secre- 
tary of  the  London  Reforma- 
tion League     ,         ,         .         . 

The  Queen  of  the  Marshal  Niels     , 

The  Lady  Gloire  de  Dijon 

Victorine      .         .         .      '  . 

Una  Dell 


Mr.  Arthur  Cecil. 
Mr.  Yorke  Stephens. 
Mr,  Lewis  Waller. 

Mr,  Weedon  Grossmith. 

Mr,  Henry  Kemble, 


Mr.  Sant  Matthews. 

Mr,  Allan  Aynesworth, 

Mr.  G.  L,  Leith. 

Miss  Winifred  Emery. 


Lady  Monckton. 
Miss  LiLLiE  Belmore. 
Miss  Ettie  Williams. 
Miss  T^RESE  Mayer. 
Miss  Olga  Brandon. 


xni 


UNIVERSITT 

OF 


THE  FIRST   ACT. 

Young  Don  Quixote  comes  from  Peckham. 

The  Scene  is  Mrs.  Greenslade's  Drawing-room  in  Mayfair. 

{^Fifteen  months  pass?) 

THE   SECOND   ACT. 

Utopia  arises  within  an  easy  drive  from  Hyde  Park 

Corner. 

The  scene  is  the  Rose  Farm  and  Rose  Cottages 
near  "Wimbledon,  at  full  Midsummer. 

(^One  night  passes.') 

THE  THIRD  ACT. 
The  Parsley  Garland. 

The  scene  is  the  Morning-room  at  the  Rose  Cottage, 
Wimbledon. 

The  indulgence  of  the  audience  is  asked  on  the  first  night 
between  the  acts,  as  the  stage  is  small  and  the  scenery  is  rather 
elaborate. 

The  furniture  and  draperies  have  been  made  by  Messrs. 
William  Morris  and  Company,  449  Oxford  street.  The  new 
scenery  has  been  painted  by  Mr.  Walter  Hann.  The  orchestra 
is  the  Viennese  White  Band,  under  the  direction  of  Herr 
Wurm.  The  song  in  the  second  act  is  sung  by  Mr.  Stedman's 
choir.  The  Stage-Manager  is  Mr.  C.  M.  Appleby.  The  prices 
of  admission  are  as  follows:  —  Private  boxes,  £1  lis.  6d.  to 
£/\  4y.  Orchestra  Stalls,  10^.  6d.  Balcony  Stalls,  'js.  Dress 
Circle  (bonnets  allowed  in  last  row),  5^.  Upper  Circle  (first 
row  booked),  y.  Pit,  2s.  Gallery,  i^.  The  Box  Office  (Mr. 
Melton)  is  open  from  10  till  5  daily  and  during  the  evening 
performance.  The  doors  will  be  opened  at  7.30,  the  overture 
will  be  played  at  8,  and  the  curtain  will  rise  at  8.15.  All  com- 
munications are  to  be  addressed  to  Mr.  G.  D.  Day,  the  business 
manager  at  the  theatre. 

XV 


XJNIVERSITT, 


ACT    I 

Scene  —  Mrs.  Greenslade's  Drawing-room  in  Mayfair,  a 
very  richly  and  tastefully  furnished  apartment.  At  back  a  hand- 
some row  of  pillars,  which  flank  staircases  running  at  right 
angles  to  spectator,  and  leading  to  upper  apartments.  A  large 
bowl  of  beautiful  roses  on  a  small  table  down  the  stage. 

A  door  and  a  fireplace  on  the  left  side  of  the  stage. 

A  door  on  the  right  side  of  the  stage,  near  the  footlights. 

Handsome  settees,  sofas,  cabinets,  etc.;  the  whole  apartment 
giving  evidence  of  great  wealth  and  taste. 

After  curtain  has  risen  a  few  moments,  Cynthia's 
face,  in  widow^s  head-dress,  is  seen  at  back,  peeping 
through  the  curtains  on  left  side.  She  listens  itt- 
tently  for  a  few  moments,  then  withdraws ;  the 
curtains  close,  and  a  moment  later  she  appears  at 
bottom  of  stairs,  still  listening.  She  is  in  widow'' s 
mourning ;  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  with 
fascinating,  coquettish  manners.  After  listening  a 
moment  towards  door  right  very  intently,  she  smiles, 
then  runs  quickly  to  sofa,  curls  he7'self  upon  it, 
listens  again,  and,  as  Worrell  enters,  feigns  to  be 
asleep. 


2  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Enter,  door  right,  Worrell,  a  very  respectable  man- 
servant, bald,  stout,  about  forty-five. 

Worrell  announces  Mr.  Rusper. 

Enter  the  Honourable  Dick  Rusper,  about  thirty  ;  an 
easy,  ajfable,  good-looking  English  gentleman. 

{Exit  Worrell  right ^ 

Dick  comes  dow7i,  sees  Cynthia,  stops  suddenly,  con- 
templates her  with  great  admiration. 

Dick.  Fast  asleep  !  How  interesting  !  How  in- 
nocent!  {Pause,  full  of  admiration.)  Devilish  pretty 
woman  !  {Steals  noiselessly  across  to  back  of  sofa, 
bends  over  her.) 

(Cynthia  opens  her  eyes,  affects  not  to  see 
him,  yawns,  stretches  her  arms,  then  sud- 
denly looks  at  him,  pretends  to  start ,  sits 
quickly  bolt  upright  on  sofa,  stai'es  at  him 
as  if  fust  wakened  from  sleep.) 
Cynthia.     How  stupid  of  me  !    {Jumps  up  quickly, 
goes    to   him,    extends   her  hand  cordially,   eagerly.) 
Well,  will  Lord  Burnham  be  president? 
Dick.     Yes,  I've  rushed  him  into  it. 
Cynthia.     How   good  of  you  !     Then  London  is 
reformed  already  ! 

{Clapping  her  hands  with  delight,  crossing 
to  the  bowl  of  roses,  bui'ies  her  head  in 
the  roses.) 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  3 

Dick.  It  ought  to  be,  with  my  dad  to  boss  the — 
what  d'ye  call  the  concern  ? 

Cynthia.  The  London  Reformation  League. 
{Smells  the  roses  delicately  and  luxuriously .^  Aren't 
these  roses  exquisite  ?     (  Gathers  a  rose, plays  with  it.) 

Dick  {comes  up  to  table,  speaks  in  a  low,  soft,  winning 
voice).     I  wish  you'd  let  me  be  on  your  committee. 

Cynthia  {shakes  her  head).     Mr.  Palsam  objects. 

Dick.     Why? 

Cynthia.     Because  you're  married. 

Dick.     So  are  most  of  the  other  members. 

Cynthia.  Yes,  but  they  —  {longish  pause,  drops 
her  voice)  they  contifiue  married. 

Dick.  So  do  I  —  at  a  distance.  My  wife  and  I 
found  out  that  when  we  were  together  we  were  miser- 
able, and  when  we  were  away  from  each  other  we 
were  happy ;  so  we  parted.  She  does  as  she  likes ; 
I  do  as  I  like.     A  jolly  sensible  arrangement ! 

Cynthia.  Yes,  but  —  you  can't  reform  London  that 
way. 

Dick  {approaching  her).  1  don't  want  to  reform 
London  at  all. 

Cynthia  {getting  away  from  him).  Ah!  I  knew 
you  weren't  in  earnest !  Nobody  is  in  earnest  except 
Mr.  Ingarfield. 

Dick.  No  ;  and  nobody  wants  to  be,  when  they've 
once  seen  him. 

Cynthia  {^-eproachfully) .  You  don't  believe  in  our 
great  scheme  ! 


4  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Dick  {comes  up  to  her,  in  a  very  insinuating  whis- 
per) .     Yes  I  do,  if  it  brings  me  near  you  ! 

Cynthia  {coldly,  severely).  Please  don't  trifle.  I 
have  a  terrible  responsibility  resting  on  me  ! 

Dick  {looks  at  her,  laicghs) .     Since  when  ? 

'Cynthia.  Ever  since  I  met  Mr.  Ingarfield.  My 
whole  character  has  completely  changed. 

Dick  {shakes  his  head).  Characters  don't  change. 
You're  the  same  wicked  torment  of  a  flirt  that  you 
were  six  years  ago,  when  you  plagued  the  life  out  of 
Fred  Rossiter  and  me,  and  threw  us  both  over  to 
marry  Mr.  Greenslade.  You've  taken  up  this  London 
Reformation  scheme  just  as  you  took  up  the  cottagers' 
poultry  scheme,  and  by-and-bye  you'll  find  this  Ingar- 
field as  great  a  bore  as  that  old  Cochin  China,  and 
you'll  wring  his  neck  and  stop  his  crowing  for  ever  ! 

Cynthia  {indignantly).  How  can  you  speak  so? 
How  little  you  know  me  ! 

Dick.     How  little  you  know  yourself ! 

Cynthia.  The  last  four  months  life  has  become 
charged  with  terrible  meaning  to  me.  My  whole 
future  is  devoted  to  carrying  out  my  husband's  will. 

Dick.     It  isn't  his  will.     It  was  never  signed. 

Cynthia.  It  would  have  been  if  he  had  lived 
another  hour.     I  promised  him  I  would  carry  it  out. 

Dick.     But  he  wasn't  — 

Cynthia.     What  ? 

Dick.     I  should  pain  you. 

Cynthia.     No  ;  it's  nearly  a  year.     Go  on. 


iUHlVERSITT 
THE  CRUSADfeR^^^^,^^^.,,,,.^.      ,5.^ 

Dick.     His  health  —  his  mind  — 

Cynthia.  Yes,  poor  man  !  But  he  was  quite  harm- 
less, only  very  eccentric.  And  he  was  a  great  public 
benefactor. 

Dick.  He  made  a  splendid  fortune  out  of  his  non- 
intoxicant  beverages. 

Cynthia.  It  was  the  building-land  that  made  his 
fortune.     {Rises  indignantly.)     I  hate  you  ! 

Dick.     Why? 

Cynthia.     You  don't  believe  in  anything  ! 

Dick.  I  don't  believe  in  temperance  champagne. 
But  I'll  believe  in  reforming  London  if  {^appro aching 
her  tenderly)  you'll  let  me  be  on  the  committee. 

Cynthia.  Ask  Mr.  Palsam.  If  he  objects,  you 
could  still  — 

Dick.     What? 

Cynthia  {retreats  frojn  him  tip  stage) .  Help  Mr. 
Ingarfield. 

(She  throws  the  rose  coquettishly  down  stage. 
He  looks  at  her  a  mo7nent,  then  goes  and 
picks  it  up,  kisses  it, ^  puts  it  in  his  button- 
hole^ 

Worrell  enters  right,  announces  Mrs.  Campion-Blake. 

Enter,  door  right,  Mrs.  Campion- Blake,  a  fussy,  ener- 
getic, talkative  society  woinan,  rather  showily  dressed. 
She  comes  down  stage  centre.     Exit  Worrell. 

Cynthia  advances  to  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Campion- 
Blake. 


6  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Dick  puts  rose  in  l?uttgji-hole,  regards  it  affectionately. 

Mrs.  Cam.  My  dear,  congratulate  me.  I've  got 
Lord  Rodbaston  to  join  the  committee.  (^Shaking 
hands. ) 

Cynthia.     Lord  Rodbaston? 

Mrs.  Cam.  The  great  brewers,  Hooper,  Barkin 
&  Co.  Rodbaston  promises  to  take  a  very  active 
part  in  the  League,  only,  of  course,  we  shall  have 
to  put  the  temperance  question  a  little  in  the  back- 
ground. 

Cynthia  {^dubiously).  But  our  programme  !  {Quot- 
ing.) "  London  sober  !  London  clean  !  London 
honest !  " 

Mrs.  Cam.  We'll  make  London  clean  and  honest 
first  — 

Cynthia.     But  Mr.  Ingarfield  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  My  dear  child,  we  shall  never  reform 
London  if  we  begin  by  offending  everybody.  Ah  ! 
How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Rusper?  {Co7nes  to  Dick,  shakes 
hands.)  Now  tell  me,  Lord  Burnham  must  positively 
be  president ! 

Dick.  Yes;  he's  coming  here  this  afternoon  to 
meet  Mr.  Ingarfield. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {shows  great  satisfaction) .  There's  a 
dear  fellow.  It's  a  million  pities  we  can't  get  the 
Marquis  of  Bicester  ! 

Cynthia.  Can't  we  ?  {Flaying  with  her  rose  list- 
lessly.) 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  7 

Mrs.  Cam.  My  dear,  can  you  ask,  after  Mr.  Ingar- 
field's  attacks  upon  the  great  ground  landlords  of 
London?  Mr.  Ingarfield  is  so  impracticable  !  So 
injudicious  ! 

Entery^O'KKEiA.,  right doo7\  He  annotmces  Mr.  Palsam, 

and  exit. 

Enter  7'ight,  Mr.  Palsam,  a  thin,  pale,  weedy,  nervous, 
unhealthy-looking  little  man,  about  thii'ty-five  to 
forty,  ve7j  shoi't-sighted,  p?'ecise,  fidgetty,  excitable, 
waspish,  naj'7'ow,  since7'e,  with  a  co7istant  habit  of 
nervously  washing  his  ha7ids,  a7id  a  pai7ifully  earnest 
77ia7iner.  Dick  7iods  coolly  to  Palsam  as  he  passes. 
Mrs.  Campion-Blake  bows  slightly.  Palsam  comes 
to  Cynthia,  shakes  hands. 

Palsam  {lie  always  speaks  in  the  same  painfully 
earnest  77ia7i7ier) .  I  must  speak  to  you  !  It's  most 
important ! 

(Cynthia   a7id   Palsam    7nove  dow7i   stage. 
Mrs.  Campion-Blake  goes   to   Dick   and 
talks  with  hi 771.) 
Palsam.     Your  new  French  maid. 
Cynthia.     Victorine  ? 

Palsam.     Where  was  she  last  Sunday  afternoon  ? 
Cynthia.     She  went  out. 
Palsam.     Where  ? 
Cynthia.     I  didn't  ask.     It's  no  business  of  mine. 


8  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Palsam  {pained  beyond  measure).  Oh!  my  dear 
Mrs.  Greenslade,  no  business  of  yours  ?  I  saw  her  in 
the  Green  Park,  walking  with  a  soldier — at  least,  I'm 
almost  sure  it  was  she  —  I'm  very  short-sighted  —  his 
arm  was  round  her  waist.  {Rep7'ovmgly.)  No  business 
of  yours  ! 

Cynthia.     But  you're  not  sure. 

Palsam.     Promise  me  you'll  question  her. 

Cynthia.     She  wouldn't  tell  me. 

Palsam.  Yes  she  would,  if  you  approached  her  in 
the  right  way.  There's  a  way  of  getting  at  the  truth 
in  these  cases.  Besides,  wouldn't  it  be  much  better 
to  err  on  the  right  side,  and  accuse  her  wrongfully, 
rather  than  let  her  escape  if  she's  guilty? 

Cynthia.     Guilty  of  what  ? 

Palsam.  Well,  she's  French.  I'm  sorry  to  say  it, 
but  such  a  thing  as  real,  genuine  morality,  as  we  know 
it  in  England,  doesn't  exist  in  the  whole  of  the  French 
nation.     Besides,  we  can't  be  too  particular  — 

Cynthia.  Really,  Mr.  Palsam  — ■  {going  away  from 
him) . 

Palsam.  Well,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  caution 
you.  {Following  her  np.)  I  implore  you  not  to  let 
the  matter  rest.  I  felt  so  grieved  when  I  heard  you 
had  taken  a  French  maid  ;  it  upset  me  for  days  !  I  do 
think  it's  so  wicked  of  people  !  —  {He  goes  mutlerittg 
tip  to  chair,  seats  himself,  genuinely  distressed^ 

Dick  {to  Mrs.  Campion-Blake).  Jolly  lot  of  nice 
people  on  your  committee. 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  9 

Mrs.  Cam.  {rattling  on  to  Dick).  Yes,  it's  quite  a 
democratic  movement  amongst  the  aristocracy.  The 
Duchess  of  Launceston  said  to  me  the  other  day  — 
such  a  charming  woman,  the  duchess  — the  duchess 
said,  "  Mrs.  Campion- Blake,  this  London  Reforma- 
tion League  is  bound  to  succeed.  You're  all  so 
terribly  in  earnest."  And  with  Lord  Burnham  as 
president  — 

ALSAM    {Jumps    up,   startled).      The    Bishop   of 

untingdon  is  to  be  president  — 

RS.  Cam.     My  dear  Mr.  Palsam,  you're  dreaming. 

e  Bishop  of  Huntingdon  has  no  social  influence 
whatever.  Besides,  he's  (Low  ChurclJ  and  really  one 
might  as  well  be  dead  and  buried  at  once  !  No ; 
Lord  Burnham  has  consented. 

Palsam  {vigorously) .  I  really  must  protest  against 
the  way  in  which  everything  is  being  taken  out  of  my 
hands.  As  Mr.  Greenslade's  acting  trustee  I  am 
empowered  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  Pardon  me  !  Mr.  Greenslade's  first 
will  remains  in  force  —  everything  is  legally  Mrs. 
Greenslade's. 

Palsam.     That  makes  no  difference.     I  — 

Mrs.  Cam.     But  listen  a  moment  — 

Palsam.  I  cannot !  I  will  not  argue  !  It  always 
excites  me  so  !  and  I'm  not  strong.  /  have  decided 
that  the  Bishop  of  LIuntingdon  shall  be  the  president. 
{Seating  Imnself  resolutely.) 

Mrs.  Cam.     And  we  have  decided  that  Lord  Burn- 


TO  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

ham  shall  be  president.  {Seating  herself  resolutely.) 
Haven't  we,  dear? 

Cynthia  {holding  the  rose  over  her  head,  playing 
with  it  above  her  nose).  I  wish  we  could  reform 
London  without  quarrelling  like  cats  and  dogs  every 
time  we  meet.  {Going  slowly  to  table,  burying  her 
face  in  the  rose-tree^ 

Mrs.  Cam.  {j'esignedly).  Of  course  the  decision 
rests  entirely  with  you. 

Enter  Worrell,  who  announces  Lord  Burnham. 

Enter  Lord  Burnham,  a  very  distinguished- looking 
man  about  sixty;  affable,  shrewd,  well-bred,  a 
genial  cynic.  {Exit  Worrell.) 

Lord  Burnham  cofnes  doivn  to  Cynthia,  bows  to  Mrs. 
Campion- Blake. 

Cynthia.  How  d'ye  do?  {Shaking  hands.)  It's 
so  kind  of  you  to  be  our  president.  (Palsam  listens 
attentively,  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  also^  Now  we  shall 
begin  work  in  real  earnest ! 

(Palsam   shows   angry   despair,   turns   half 

round  in   his    chair    with    a    despairing 

gesture,  crosses  his  legs,  bites  his  thumb. 

Mrs.  Campion- Blake  shows  tritmiph.) 

Cynthia    {noticing  Palsam).      Mr.    Palsam    {very 

engagingly),  Pm  sure  you'll  consider  it  an  honour  to 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  '  ii 

aid  Lord  Burnham  in  our  great  work.  (Palsam  comes 
foi'ward.  Cynthia  inti'o duces ^  Mr.  Palsam,  our 
vice-president  !  Lord  Burnham,  our  president!  {em- 
phatically.    The  two  me7i  bow.) 

Palsam.  Of  course,  if  Lord  Burnham  has  consid- 
ered the  solemn  responsibility  !  — 

Lord  Burnham.  Well,  on  second  thoughts,  I'm 
afraid  I'm  scarcely  fitted  for  the  post  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  {quickly).  You  are  positively  the  only 
man  in  London  who  is  fitted  ! 

Palsam.     You'll  pardon  me,  but  — 

Cynthia  {sweetly).  Mr.  Palsam,  it  is  quite  settled. 
Will  you  be  seated?     {Points  to  sofa.) 

Palsam  {goes  to  sofa,  muttering) .  It  is  so  wrong  of 
people  !  But  he'll  do  something,  and  then  {joyfully) 
I'll  make  an  example  of  him  !  ~~ 

Lord  Burnham  {lookiiig  at  Palsam).  {Aside.) 
Rather  a  mangy  vice-president !  {Aloud.)  Yes,  on 
consideration,  I'm  a  busy  man,  and  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  Oh,  but  the  president's  position  is 
quite  honorary.     There  is  nothing  to  do. 

Lord  Burnham.  I  shall  not  be  expected  to  under- 
take the  reformation  of  any  individual  Londoner  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.     Oh,  not  at  all ! 

Lord  Burnham.     Not  even  myself? 

Palsam  {solemnly).  The  committee  of  the  London 
Reformation  League  do  not  stand  in  need  of  any 
reformation  themselves,  except  in  trifles. 


12    ■  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Cynthia.  We  all  approach  perfection  as  nearly  as 
is  endurable  for  our  neighbours,  except  in  trifles  ! 

Dick  {^strikes  in  cheerfidly).  I  know  I've  been 
getting  better  ever  since  I've  been  coming  here  ;  and 
now  I  feel  good  enough  for  anything,  —  good  enough 
to  be  on  the  committee  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     I've  no  doubt  the  moral  atmos- 
phere is  bracing,  and  {glancing  at  Cynthia  and  Mrs. 
Campion- Blake)  enchanting.    And  if  I  consulted  only 
my  own  narrow,  selfish  wish  to  improve  my  own  charac- 
ter, I'm  sure  I  couldn't  do  it  under  better  auspices.*^ 
But  I've  always  considered  it  a  pecuharly  base  kind   ie^ 
of  treachery  to  be  any  better  than  my  neighbours.  sT"    ^ 
It's  leaving  them  in  the  lurch,  and  I  can't  do  it.     Now  ~> 
I'm  fond  of  racing  —  (Palsam  shows  great  pain  and 
disgust.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  Why  not?  A  fine,  manly,  English 
sport !  There's  nothing  in  horse-racing  incompatible 
with  the  London  Reformation  League.  Besides,  if 
you  lend  us  the  support  of  your  name  to  improve 
society  in  sofne  ways,  that  surely  gives  you  a  little 
license  to  —  a  —  exercise  your  discretion  in  —  a — some 
other  ways. 

Lord  Burnham.  It  isn't  my  discretion  I  want  to 
exercise,  it's  my  indiscretion  that  I  want  to  have  an 
occasional  galop. 

Cynthia  {imploringly).  Oh,  but  you  could  help 
us  so  much  !  Your  name  alone  would  be  so  valu- 
able ! 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  13 

Lord  Burnham.  Well,  if  my  name  will  improve 
society  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  Oh,  it  will !  it  will !  An  old  title  car- 
ries so  much  weight !  (  Vefj  coaxingly.)  You  will  be 
our  first  president  ? 

Lord  Burnham.  Well,  till  you  can  get  somebody 
better.  {Rises.)  Now  tell  me,  what  are  we  doing? 
How  far  have  we  reformed  London  at  present  ?  Have 
we  made  a  start? 

Cynthia.  Oh  yes  !  We  have  taken  five  hundred 
poor  seamstresses  out  of  the  worst  sweating  shops  in 
the  East  End,  and  set  them  to  grow  roses  on  a  rose- 
farm  near  Wimbledon  Common.  Look  !  (pointing  to 
the  rose-tree).     This  is  the  result. 

Lord  Burnham  {smells  roses'^.     Delicious  ! 

Cynthia  (^enthusiastically^.  One  can't  have  too 
many  roses  !     And  it's  such  a  lovely  industry  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     Did  they  grow  these  ? 

Cynthia.  Yes ;  under  gardeners,  of  course.  We 
have  forty  experienced  gardeners  to  teach  them. 

Lord  Burnham.     Does  the  rose-farm  pay? 

Cynthia.  Not  at  present.  But  it  doesn't  matter, 
because  we've  so  much  money  coming  in,  we  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  it. 

Lord  Burnham.  May  I  ask  what  is  the  precise 
sum  we  have  available  for  the  reformation  of  London  ? 

Cynthia.  Mr.  Greenslade  left  over  a  million  and 
a  half.  Except  his  ample  provision  for  me,  it  all  goes 
to  carry  out  Mr.  Ingarfield's  scheme. 


14  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Lord  Burnham.     How  is  it  invested? 

Palsam.  In  modern  residences  in  Peckham  and 
Camberwell. 

Lord  Burnham.  Of  course  !  Mr.  Greenslade  had 
large  building  speculations  in  the  south  of  London. 

Palsam.  Yes ;  he  built  quite  a  superior  style  of 
residence  for  forty  pounds  a  year ;  you  might  almost 
call  it  a  suburban  mansion. 

Lord  Burnham.  In  fact,  we  may  be  said  to  owe 
modern  Peckham  and  Camberwell  to  Mr.  Greenslade, 
eh? 

Palsam.     And  parts  of  Clapham  and  Wimbledon. 

Lord  Burnham.     What  else  did  he  do  ? 

Palsam.  He  discovered  several  temperance  tonics. 
I  have  derived  great  benefit  from  his  beverages. 

Lord  Burnham.  He  seems  to  have  done  a  great 
deal  of  reformation  altogether. 

Palsam.  Yes.  My  lord,  I  never  allow  a  drop  of 
alcohol  inside  my  house,  and,  if  I  may  suggest,  it 
would  set  a  very  beneficial  example  if  you,  as 
president  of  the  League,  would  also  make  a  strict 
rule  — 

Lord  Burnham  (^^y^^j-/).  Yes!  Yes!  I've  rather 
a  good  cellar  just  at  present,  Mr.  Palsam,  but  —  I'll 
think  it  over.  (^Hastily.)  Now  about  this  rose-farm  ; 
very  delightful  place,  eh,  Dick? 

Dick.  JolHest  place  in  the  world.  You'd  think 
you  were  a  hundred  miles  in  the  country.  And  the 
rose-farmers  in  their  pretty  dresses,  and  singing  their 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  15 

songs  !  A  most  charming  idea,  Mrs.  Greenslade  ! 
(^Leans  over  Cynthia's  chair.) 

Lord  Burnham.  The  rose-farm  was  your  idea, 
Mrs.  Greenslade? 

Cynthia.  Mr.  Ingarfield's  and  mine.  Mr.  Green- 
slade bought  the  forty  acres  for  building,  but  there 
were  two  such  pretty  old-fashioned  cottages  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  {gushingly).  Perfect  dreams  of  cot- 
tages ! 

Cynthia.  So  I  persuaded  him  to  give  it  to  me.  I 
keep  the  cottages  furnished,  and  we  have  built  some 
new  houses  for  the  rose-farmers. 

Lord  Burnham.  And  these  young  persons,  young 
girls,  young  women,  or  whatever  they  are  — 

Mrs.  Cam.     Most  of  them  have  titles. 

Lord  Burnham  {surprised) .     Titles  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  Yes.  That  was  my  idea.  A  title  is 
such  a  powerful  incentive  to  good  conduct.  So  we 
give  them  titles  for  rewards.  One  is  called  "The 
Queen  of  the  Marshal  Niels,"  another  ''The  Lady 
Gloire  de  Dijon,"  and  so  on. 

Lord  Burnham.  Do  these  titles  imply  a  moral  or 
a  horticultural  distinction  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.     Both  moral  and  horticultural. 

Palsam.  During  the  winter  I  have  arranged  for 
nightly  lectures  of  an  improving  nature. 

Lord  Burnham.     Ah  !  that  sounds  cheerful ! 

Enter  Worrell,  door  right,  comes  down  stage  a  little. 


i6  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Worrell.  The  workingmen  members  have  ar- 
rived, ma'am. 

Cynthia.     Show  them  upstairs  — 

Mrs.  Cam.     The  other  way  — 

Cynthia.  And  have  some  lunch  prepared  for  Mr. 
Ingarfield  in  the  next  room. 

(Worrell  goes  back  to  door  right.) 

Lord  Burnham.  We  have  workingmen  on  our 
committee  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Only  three.  It  pleases  the  working- 
classes,  and  {benevolently)  it  doesn't  do  any  harm. 

Worrell  {looking  off).  Mr.  Ingarfield  and  Miss 
Dell  have  just  come  in,  ma'am. 

Cynthia  {shows  some  slight  agitation  at  the  mention 
of  Ingarfield's  name).  Show  them  in  here.  No 
{rises),  I'll  speak  to  them  first  in  the  library. 

(Palsam  watches  Cynthia  very  suspiciously.) 

{Exit  Worrell.     Cynthia  follows  him.) 

Palsam  {has  been  watching  her  sourly  and  suspi- 
ciously). {Aside.)  She's  gone  to  settle  something 
important  behind  my  back.  (  Going  up  to  door  right. \ 
{Aside.)  They're  always  settling  things  without  con- 
sulting me  !     {Goes  off,  muttering.) 

Lord  Burnham,  Dick,  and  Mrs.  Campion- Blake  have 
watched  him  off. 

(Lord  Burnham  looks  grave ^ 
Dick.     You're  in  for  a  good  thing,  sir  ! 


ACT  I  THE   CRUSADERS  17 

Lord  Burnham  {rises) .  I  shall  never  live  up  to  it, 
Dick.  (  Comes  down  stage  a  few  steps  till  he  is  on 
a  level  with  Dick.  The  two  men  look  at 
each  other.  Dick  laughs  at  his  father. 
Lord  Burnham  walks  gravely  and  7Hoodily 
down  to  sofa,  sits,  looks  aiixious  and 
solemn.) 

Dick.  I  say,  Mrs.  Blake,  I've  just  taken  a  little 
place  near  the  rose-farm  at  Wimbledon,  and  I  can 
come  over  occasionally. 

Mrs.  Cam.     That  will  be  sweet  of  you. 

Lord  Burnham  {Jias  been  listening).     Dick  ! 

Dick  {comes  down  to  Lord  Burnham)  .     Sir  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {rises,  takes  out  her  watch).  It's  nearly 
time  for  the  committee,  {Goes  np  to  foot  of  stair- 
case, looks  up  at  it  attentively,  listening.) 

Lord  Burnham  {cojifidentially,  in  a  tone  of  kind 
reproof) .  No  damned  nonsense  with  this  Mrs.  Green- 
slade  ! 

Dick.     Damned  nonsense,  sir? 

Lord  Burnham.  Yes.  This  house  you've  taken 
at  Wimbledon  !  I'm  not  straitlaced,  but  one  must 
think  a  little  about  pubhc  opinion.  It  doesn't  do  to 
get  found  out  —  it's  so  awkward  all  round. 

Dick.  I  assure  you,  sir,  there  isn't  the  least  foun- 
dation. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {coining  down  stage) .  As  usual !  Our 
workingmen  members  are  quarrelling  amongst  them- 
selves. 

c 


1 8  THE   CRUSADERS  act  i 

Lord  Burnham.  Apparently  we  are  a  hybrid  com- 
mittee.    What's  this  Ingarfield  hke  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Oh,  he's  a  new  variety  of  inspired  idiot. 
Something  between  an  angel,  a  fool,  and  a  poet.  And 
atrociously  in  earnest !  A  sort  of  Shelley  from  Peck- 
ham  Rye.  Poor  old  Greenslade  was  as  mad  as  a 
hatter,  and  Mr.  Palsam  worried  him  into  a  death-bed 
repentance,  and  got  him  to  leave  all  his  money  to  this 
scheme  of  Ingarfield's. 

Lord  Burnham.  And  that's  how  we  come  to  be 
reforming  London  at  this  prodigious  rate. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Yes.  Well,  if  we  don't  do  any  good, 
we  shan't  do  any  harm.  Oh,  I  want  you  to  dine  with 
us  one  evening,  and  I'll  ask  Mr.  Ingarfield.  He's 
rather  good  fun,  if  you  take  him  in  small  doses. 

Lord  Burnham.     Thank  you,  I  —  a  —  I  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  You're  going  to  say  "  No,"  but  you 
shall  choose  your  own  evening.  And  you  shan't  be 
bored.  I'll  ask  Madame  Fanny  Blower,  the  American 
gymnast.     Have  you  seen  her  performance  ? 

Lord  Burnham.     No  —  I  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  Oh,  she's  adorable  !  She  gives  drawing- 
room  gymnastics  after  dinner.  It  isn't  the  least  indeli- 
cate —  after  the  first  shock.  It's  a  splendid  lesson  in 
digestion  to  all  diners-out. 

Dick.  I've  seen  her.  Very  fine  woman,  and  not  at 
all  overdressed. 

Mrs.  Cam.     You'll  come  too,  Mr.  Rusper? 

Dick.     Delighted.    I  say,  who's  this  Miss  Una  Dell  ? 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  19 

Mrs.  Cam.  She's  the  grand-daughter  of  the  mad 
Chartist  poet.  She's  a  good  deal  madder  than  poor 
dear  Ingarfield  — 

Door  right  opens. 
Dick  {^warningly) .     Hush  I 

Enter  door  fight  Cynthia  and  Philos  Ingarfield  ;  he 
is  about  thirty,  long  light  curly  hair  parted  in  the 
middle,  worn  eager  face,  high  narrow  forehead ;  lean, 
nervous,  dreamy,  adsorbed.  They  come  down  stage 
towards  table,  Cynthia  a  step  or  two  in  advance  of 
Ingarfield. 

Una  Dell,  a  sensitive,  shy,  enthusiastic  girl,  about 
twenty,  comes  to  door  right,  enters  a  step  or  tivo  and 
stands  the?'e. 

Cynthia  Qo  Ingarfield,  with  great  concei^n). 
You're  tired  !     You're  hungry  ! 

Philos  {looking  at  her  with  great  tenderness') .  No  ! 
My  work  is  food  and  rest  to  me  !  My  work  !  (aside, 
very  softly)  and  my  love  for  you  ! 

Dick  {aside,  jealously) .  That  long-haired  chap's 
bowling  me  out ! 

Cynthia.  Lord  Burnham,  may  I  present  Mr.  Philos 
Ingarfield  ? 

(Ingarfield  and  \.ovjy  Burnham  bow.) 

(Mrs.  Campion-Blake  engages  Philos,  talks  to  him.) 


20  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Cynthia.  And  {looking  round  for  Una,  who  stands 
against  door).  Where's  —  Oh,  there  you  are  !  Come 
here  !  •  (Una  co?nes  dowji.) 

Worrell  enters  right,  comes  doiun  to  Cynthia. 

Cynthia  {continuing,  as  Una  conies  do7V7i).  Lord 
Burnham,  this  is  Miss  Una  Dell.  On  a  platform  she 
can  talk  to  three  thousand  miners.  In  a  drawing-room 
she  hasn't  a  word  to  say. 

Lord  Burnham  {bows  to  Una,  motions  her  to  a  seat 
on  sofa).     I  hope  we  shall  find  some  subject. 

Cynthia  {laughing) .  Try  social  science.  (  Goes  a 
step  or  two  back,  where  she  is  joined  by  Worrell,  who 
whispers  her.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {to  Philos)  .  Sit  down  !  You  are  really 
killing  yourself.  (  Gets  Philos  into  chair.)  Now  you 
must  be  very  nice  to  Lord  Burnham  !  He  can  be  of 
the  greatest  use  to  your  scheme. 

Philos  {twry  ea^-nestly).  Does  he  love  his  fellow- 
men? 

Mrs.  Cam.  {dubiously).  Well,  not  particularly  — 
but  he  has  immense  social  influence.  I'm  afraid  he's 
rather  worldly  {shaking  her  head  sadly) ,  not  serious, 
not  earnest,  not  one  of  us.  Still,  we  must  put  up  with 
his  frivolity  for  the  good  of  London. 

Cynthia  (/^Worrell).  Yes;  in  that  room  {indi- 
cating door  left) .  {Exit  Worrell  door  left^ 

(Cynthia  Joins  Philos  and  Mrs.  Campion- Blake.) 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  21 

Dick  {has  been  watching  Mrs.  Campion- Blake ///xj-- 
ing  about  Philos  —  aside') .  What  women  can  see  in 
that  fellow  !  I  wish  I  could  ship  him  off  to  Costa 
Rica  along  with  his  ne'er-do-wells.  (  Watches  Cynthia 
and  Mrs.  Campion-Blake.) 

Una  (has  been  talking  eiithusiastically  to  Lord 
Burnham,  suddenly).  Oh,  but  I  love  blackguards! 
I  love  gaol-birds  !  I  love  outcasts  of  all  sorts  !  I 
love  everybody  that's  unfortunate,  and  miserable, 
and  ugly,  and  wicked,  and  stupid  !  Don't  you  love 
them  ? 

Lord  Burnham.     At  some  distance. 

Una.  Oh,  but  you'll  have  to  love  them  if  you  want 
to  reform  them.     You'll  never  do  it  without  love. 

Lord  Burnham  {looks  disconcerted).  {Aside.)  I 
shall  resign  the  first  chance  I  get. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {effusively  to  Philos)  .  Yes ;  you  must  ! 
Lord  Burnham  is  positively  dying  to  dine  with  you  ! 

Philos.     My  dinner  wouldn't  suit  Lord  Burnham. 

Lord  Burnham.     Why  not? 

Philos.     It's  so  plain. 

Cynthia.     Why  do  you  live  like  a  hermit? 

Philos.  I  can't  feast  while  my  brothers  and  sisters 
are  starving. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Your  brothers  and  sisters  ?  Where  are 
they? 

Philos.  In  the  gutters,  in  the  alleys,  in  the  gaols 
and  work-houses.  There  are  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  them  in  the  East  of  London  that  never  smile. 


22  THE   CRUSADERS  act  i 

Mrs.  Cam.  Poor  creatures  !  Well,  now  Lord  Burn- 
ham  is  president,  we  shall  soon  put  matters  right  for 
them  !  You'll  put  Mr.  Ingarfield's  scheme  into  opera- 
tion at  once,  Lord  Burnham. 

Lord  Burnham.  Certainly.  Perhaps  Mr.  Ingar- 
field  will  give  me  a  few  details.     Where  do  we  start? 

Philos.  I  start  with  the  condition  of  London  at 
the  present  moment.  What  have  we.  made  of  our 
city?  What  are  we  going  to  make  of  it?  Put  up 
twenty- story  fiats  all  over  the  West  End  as  far  as 
Richmond,  build  Clapham  Junctions  all  over  the 
suburbs,  and  let  the  East  End  sprawl  in  its  misery 
till  it  covers  Essex.  That's  London's  present  ideal. 
Is  it  yours  ? 

Lord  Burnham.     I  regret  to  say  I  have  no  ideals. 

Una.     No  ideals  ? 

Lord  Burnham.  No  ;  you  see  Pve  been  in  Parlia- 
ment since  I  was  twenty-two. 

Philos.  I  want  to  put  an  ideal  London  before 
every  Londoner.  I  want  all  good  citizens  to  stand  in 
line  and  say  to  London  filth,  to  London  ugliness,  to 
food  adulteration,  to  slums,  to  bad  drains,  to  legal 
chicanery,  to  horse-racing,  to  the  Stock  Exchange,  and 
to  all  other  ways  of  living  upon  your  neighbour  with- 
out working  for  him,  to  the  thief,  to  the  idle,  to  the 
drunkard,  to  the  jerry  house-builder,  —  I  want  Lon- 
doners to  say  to  all  of  them,  —  *'  We'll  abohsh  you  !  " 

Lord  Burnham.  And  what  do  you  suppose  all 
these  good  folks  will  say  in  reply  ? 


^ 


ACT  I  THE   CRUSADERS  23 

Dick  (/;/  a  low  aside).  "We'll  see  you  damned 
first!" 

Enter  Worrell  dooj-  left. 

Philos  (yContimmig  excitedly) .     I  begin  — 

Worrell.  Mr.  Ingarfield's  luncheon  is  served. 
{Crosses  to  door  right,  exit.) 

Lord  Burnham.     Well,  where  do  we  begin? 

Philos.  Everywhere  where  there  is  dishonesty, 
misery,  disease,  despair !  I  want  to  make  every 
Londoner  feel  that  every  broken  waif  of  humanity 
in  this  city,  no  matter  how  evil,  wretched,  ignorant, 
sunken,  diseased,  is  his  brother,  his  sister,  his 
child  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  I  fancy  we've  heard  something 
like  this  before. 

Una.  Yes ;  it's  two  thousand  years  old,  or  there- 
abouts. Mr.  Ingarfield  only  preaches  what  everybody 
believes,  and  nobody  practises. 

Philos  {^absorbed,  continuing).     I  want  to  bind  all 

\   Londoners  in  one  task,  not  to  cease  or  rest  till  they 

have  made  London  beautiful,  London  happy,  London 

/Chonest,  London  healthy,  London  sober,  London  clean, 

London  free,  from  north '^  south,  from  west  to  east, 

in  every  street,  in  every  liome  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     I  don't  quite  catch  the  method  ! 

Una.  Don't  you?  It's  so  easy!  By  persuasion  ! 
There's  no  other  way  of  making  people  better.  Men 
don't  keep  on  being  foolish  for  ever.     They  used  to 


^ 


24  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

cut  one  another's  throats.  They're  beginning  to  see 
that's  absurd.  By-and-bye  they'll  see  it's  just  as  ab- 
surd to  cheat  and  lie  to  one  another  ! 

Lord  Burnham  {shakes  his  head).  My  dear  young 
lady,  believe  me,  lying  is  far  too  venerable  and  useful 
an  accomplishment  for  humanity  to  see  its  absurd 
aspect  —  in  our  day  at  least. 

Worrell  enters  at  door  right  with  two  telegrams ; 
l?ri?igs  thcjn  to  Philos.  Vpaskm.  follows  him,  watch- 
ing him  closely. 

Philos  {taking  telegratns from  Worrell).  Excuse 
me.     {Opens  them.) 

Worrell  goes  to  door  right,  watched  by  Palsam.   Exit. 

Palsam  {watching  Worrell  off  very  suspiciously). 
It  can't  be  right  to  bring  that  French  maid  into  this 
house  !      {Stands  moody,  distressed.) 

Philos  {having  read  telegram).  My  poor  ne'er- 
do-wells  !  (Dick  listens  very  attentively.) 

Cynthia.     Where  are  they? 

Philos.  On  board  the  Avenger,  at  Portsmouth. 
The  President  of  Costa  Rica  refuses  to  receive  them 
unless  they  are  accompanied  by  a  suitable  guardian 
guaranteed  by  the  English  government. 

Dick.  Perhaps  the  Foreign  Office  can  help  you, 
Mr.  Ingarfield.     My  father  is  Foreign  Secretary  — 

(Lord    Burnham    looks    anxious,  frowns, 
shakes  his  head  at  Dick.) 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  25 

Philos.  It  would  be  kind  of  you.  Read  these 
telegrams.     ( Gives  telegrams  to  Dick.) 

Lord  Burnham.  Who  are  these  ne'er-do-wells  of 
yours,  Mr.  Ingarfield? 

Philos.  Those  who  have  been  beaten  and  trodden 
underfoot  in  the  struggle  for  life,  —  the  weak,  the 
diseased,  the  ignorant. 

Lord  Burnham.     A  good  many  bad  characters. 

Philos.  You  shouldn't  call  any  man  a  bad  charac- 
ter till  you've  changed  places  with  him. 

Lord  Burnham.     What  shall  you  do  with  them  ? 

Philos.  I  don't  know.  They've  broken  loose  at 
Portsmouth  ;  and  the  authorities  threaten  to  prosecute 
me,  unless  I  remove  them  — 

Dick  {having  read  telegra??is,  rises,  and  hands  them 
back  to  Philos).  There's  only  one  way,  Mr.  Ingar- 
field !     You  must  go  to  Costa  Rica  yourself ! 

(Una  shows  interest  and  slight  alarm.) 

Philos.     Myself ! 

Cynthia.  Impossible  !  Mr.  Ingarfield  cannot  be 
spared  from  London  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  Not  till  his  scheme  is  in  working 
order. 

Dick.  Mr.  Ingarfield  will  either  have  to  go  to 
Costa  Rica,  or  be  prosecuted.  This  telegram  from 
the  mayor  of  Portsmouth  uses  pretty  strong  language. 
The  Portsmouth  people  don't  seem  to  Hke  ne'er-do- 
wells.  (Dick  hands  telegrams  to  Mrs.  Campion-Blake 
and  Cynthia,  who  read  them  eagerly.)     All  Mr.  In- 


26  THE   CRUSADERS  act  i 

garfield  has  to  do  is  to  run  over  to  Costa  Rica,  estab- 
lish his  colony,  and  leave  his  scheme  in  our  hands  — 

Palsam  {authoritatively) .  I  believe  I  am  the  vice- 
president  of  this  League  — 

Dick  {amiably,  soothi7tgly).  Quite  so,  Mr.  Palsam 
—  leave  the  scheme  in  Mr.  Palsam's  hands.  We  can 
make  it  all  right  with  the  Costa  Rica  government  — 

Lord  Burnham  {waniingly) .    I'm  not  sure,  Dick  — 

Dick.  We  can  guarantee  Mr.  Ingarfield  as  a  suit- 
able person  to  look  after  ne'er-do-wells.  It's  a  mere 
formality. 

Lord  Burnham  {rises).  May  I  see  the  telegrams? 
{Joins  Cynthia  and  Mrs.  Campion-Blake. 
They  hand  telegrams  to  him.) 

Dick  {continues,  glowingly).  And  it's  a  lovely 
country  !     Don't  I  wish  I  had  the  chance  of  going  ! 

Philos  {abso7'bed).  I've  given  my  word  to  them. 
If  I  forsake  them,  what  will  become  of  them? 

Dick.  The  Portsmouth  magistrates  will  deal  with 
them. 

Philos  {scarcely  listening  to  Dick).  And  I  could 
see  for  myself  how  far  the  country's  suited  to  receive 
my  oppressed  ones.  {Sits  in  a?^mchair,  absorbed, 
deliberating.) 

Dick  {plyiiig  him).  The  country's  a  perfect  para- 
dise for  all  classes  of  people  who  can't  get  on  here. 
Why  can't  they  get  on  here?  Because,  from  consti- 
tutional reasons,  they  either  don't,  or  can't,  or  won't, 
work.     Well,  in  Costa  Rica  there's  no  need  for  much 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  27 

work,  nothing  beyond  that  sHght  amount  which  is  a 
pleasurable  activity.  There's  the  coffee  !  All  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  let  it  grow,  and  dry  it !  There  are  the 
bananas  !  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  let  them  grow, 
and  gather  them  !  And  the  vines  !  (Palsam  looks 
ferocious^     Talk  about  Chateau  Lafitte  — 

Palsam  {very  ivaspishly) .  I  object  to  the  Green- 
slade  bequest  being  squandered  in  the  pernicious 
industry  of  intoxication  — 

Dick  {comes  to  hivi  go od- humour edly^  walks  him  to 
sofa).  Quite  so,  Mr.  Palsam.  We'll  stick  to  the 
coffee  and  bananas.  We  must  take  care  these  poor 
ne'er-do-wells  don't  get  rich  too  suddenly.  {Gets 
VKiSiPiM.  soothed,  and  seated  on  sofa.)  It  might  upset 
them.  And  when  we  see  each  one  of  them  owning  a 
flourishing  coffee  and  banana  plantation,  instead  of 
loafing  about  a  public-house  —  by  Jove,  we  shall  be 
happy  ! 

Philos  {suddenly).  I'll  go  with  them!  It's  my 
duty,  and  I'll  go  ! 

Dick  {aside, joyfully).     Landed  him  ! 

Cynthla.  and  Mrs.  Campion-Blake,  vejy  much  con- 
cerned, come  to  Philos. 

Cynthia.     But  you  can't  be  spared. 
Mrs.  Cam.     Positively  you  shan't  go. 
Philos.     I  must. 

Cynthia.     Is  there  nothing  that  would  keep  you? 

(Philos  looks  at  her.) 


28  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Una  {aside,  watching).     Yes.     His  love  for  her. 

Philos.     Nothing  must  keep  me. 

Mrs.  Cam.     What  object  is  there  in  your  going? 

Philos.  The  welfare  of  seven  hundred  and  sixty 
poor  souls  who  trust  to  me. 

Cynthia.  Don't  decide  now.  Let  it  wait.  {Giving 
back  telegrams.)  Your  lunch  —  it's  waiting  in  that 
room.  Una,  lunch.  {To  Philos.)  You  won't  go? 
{Imploi'ingly^ 

Philos.     If  I  don't,  who  will  ? 

Una  {suddenly) .     I  will !     Let  me  take  them  ! 

Dick.  You  !  Impossible  !  An  emigrant  ship  is  no 
place  for  a  lady. 

Una.  I'm  not  much  of  a  lady.  I'm  a  good  deal 
of  a  woman.  I'm  safe  amongst  the  miners  of  Nor- 
thumberland, and  amongst  the  thieves  of  the  East  End. 

Dick.  But  you  wouldn't  be  safe  in  the  Avenge?'. 
It's  the  rottenest  old  tub  — 

Una.  And  you  want  Mr.  Ingarfield  to  go  !  {To 
Philos.)     Did  you  hear?     You  won't  go  in  that  ship? 

Philos.     Yes.     Don't  fear. 

{\3YiKpatLses,  looks  at  him,  then  exit  left.) 
(Philos  is  going  after  her. ) 

Cynthia  {stopping  him).  Surely  you  won't  risk 
your  life.     The  ship  is  dangerous  — 

Philos  {shakes  his  head,  smiles,  with  calm  assur- 
ance). No  ship  will  sink  with  me  while  my  work 
remains  undone.  {Exit  door  left.) 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  29 

Dick  {aside).  He'll  go.  x^nd  if  I  don't  bowl  him 
out  before  he  comes  back  — 

(Cynthia  has  zvatched  Ingarfield  off  left ; 
stands  at  door  watchi7ig.) 

Worrell  enters  door  7'ight,  announces  Mr.  Figg,  Mr. 
BURGE  Ja\vle. 

Figg,  a  dapper,  polite,  insinuating,  finicky,  facile,  plausi- 
ble, bald  man  of  forty,  enters  right,  followed  by  Burge 
Jawle,  a  fat,  jaundiced,  heavy,  torpid,  olive-complex- 
ioned  man  of  fifty ;  he  waddles  slowly  down  stage 
after  Figg.  Cynthia  closes  door  left,  comes  to  centj-e 
of  stage,  7neets  Figg.     ^jc// Worrell  right. 

Figg.  How  d'ye  do?  {Shaking  hands  with  Cyn- 
thia.) You  asked  me  to  bring  our  great  social 
philosopher,  Mr.  Burge  Jawle. 

(Jawle  waddles  down  slowly  in  an  uncon- 
ce7'7ied,  to 7p id  way.) 

Figg  {introdticing).     Mrs.  Greenslade. 

Cynthia.     How  d'ye  do?     {Offe7'ing  hand.) 

Jawle  {waddles  up,  puts  his  heaiy  fat  paw  i7i 
Cynthia's  ha7id,  speaks  /;/  a  heavy  drawl  without  a7iy 
ani7nation  or  excite77ient).  Thank  you.  I  am  as 
usual.  My  health  is  never  robust.  My  vital  processes 
are  extremely  slow.  I  nourish  myself  with  great 
difficulty.    {Holdi77g  Cynthia's  ha7id —  a  slight  pause.) 

Cynthia  {a  little  e77ibar7-assed).     I'm  sorry  — 


30  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Jawle.     Standing  fatigues  me.     I  think  I'll  sit  down. 

{Looks  round.) 
(Lord  Burnham  lises,  offers  his  chair.) 

Jawle  {looks  at  if,  looks  all  round,  spies  a  very 
comfortable  armchair  doivn  in  corner).  No  —  that 
chair  seems  to  be  especially  adapted  to  my  require- 
ments. (  Waddles  very  slowly  down,  seats  himself  ivith 
great  pi'ecision,  leans  back,  places  his  hands  on  his 
stomach,  sits  placidly  absorbed,  utte7'ly  oblivious  of  luhat 
is  going  on.) 

Palsam  (  To  FiGG  —  Cynthia  listetting) .  You  were 
saying  that  Mr.  Jawle's  social  philosophy  will  assist  us 
in  reforming  London. 

FiGG  {confidently) .  You  can't  reform  London  with- 
out it.  He  has  devoted  his  whole  life  to  it,  and  he  is 
at  this  moment  absolutely  penniless.  The  herd  do 
not  understand  Jawle.  By  the  way  {dropping  his 
voice)  you  could  not  put  Mr.  Greenslade's  bequest  to 
a  better  use  than  by  substantially  rewarding  Jawle's 
immense  services  to  humanity. 

Cynthia.  Of  course  if  his  philosophy  helps  us  to 
reform  London,  we  ought  to  pay  him  for  it.  Would  he 
accept  — 

FiGG.  I'll  put  it  delicately  to  him.  I  think  I  can 
conquer  his  scruples.  (Jawle  gives  vent  to  a  peculiar 
melancholy  chuckle,  still  sitting  sublimely  unconscious 
in  his  armchair^  Look  !  (  Calls  everybody's  atten- 
tion to  Jawle,  who  continues  to  sit  unmoved,  with  his 
fat  hands  on  his  stomach.     All  look  ^/ Jawle.)     He's 


ACT  I  THE   CRUSADERS  31 

often  like  that  for  hours  !  He  has  that  rare  faculty 
of  burying  himself !  He's  quite  unaware  of  our  pres- 
ence !  We  might  discuss  his  whole  system  of  philos- 
ophy without  his  knowing  it. 

Palsam  {who  has  been  anxiously  waiting  to  question 
Figg).  Are  you  quite  sure  his  principles  have  an 
improving  tendency  for  young  men  ? 

Figg  {g/idfy).  My  dear  sir,  Jawle  has  swept  away 
all  the  older  philosophies  entirely.  Jawle 's  is  the  only 
rational  system  of  ethics. 

Cynthia  {dubiously) .     What  does  he  teach  ? 
Figg  {same  glib  tone).     Jawle's  fundamental  doc- 
trine is  the  immorality  of  marriage. 

{Great    si^'prise    on    the  part   of   Mrs. 
Campion- Blake  and  Cynthia.     Palsam 
jumps    up    aghast.     Dick    aiid    Lord 
BuRNHAM  chuckle.     Jawle  pj-eserves  his 
attitude  of  placid  self-absorptio7i  in  the 
arinchair.) 
Lord  Burnham    {after  the   cojisternatio?i  has  sub- 
sided—  very  quietly) .     And  what  follows  ? 
Palsam   {much  disturbed).     What? 
Figg  {bland,  soothing).     Pray  don't  misunderstand 
me.     Jawle  has  no  objection  to  marriage  in  itself,  but 
only  as  the  one  great  means  of  promoting  human  mis- 
ery.    Jawle  entertains  equal  objections  to  every  other 
method  of  perpetuating  the  human  race.     Am  I  not 
right?     {Crosses  to  Jawle,  stands   over  his  chair  — 
rather  loudly  to  Jawle,  pi^onipting  him.)     Marriage  ! 


32  THE   CRUSADERS  act  i 

Jawle  {^faintly  rouses  himself,  speaks  very  senten- 
tiously  and  authoritatively^.  There  being  an  im- 
mense balance  of  misery  and  suffering  in  every  human 
lot,  it  necessarily  follows  that  marriage,  as  the  chief 
means  of  increasing  that  misery  and  suffering,  is 
a  criminal  and  anti-social  action.  {^Relapses  into  his 
self-absorption^  takes  no  notice  whatever  of  what  is 
goifig  o?t?) 

(Dick  and  Lord  Burnham  air  amused.) 

Cynthia  (^puzzled') .     But  —  if  nobody  married  — 

FiGG  (addresses  himself  to  Pals  am).  I'm  sure  you 
agree  with  us,  Mr,  Palsam,  that  the  rapid  increase  of 
the  human  herd  is  a  matter  for  the  gravest  alarm  — 

Palsam  (moodily).  I've  always  thought  there  was 
far  too  great  a  propensity  —  I  can't  understand  it !  ^^.^ 

FiGG.     Jawle  calculates  that  at  the  present  rate  the    (1 
human  race  will  infallibly  exhaust  every  possible  means    {{^ 
of  subsistence  in  six  generations  ! 

Palsam.  Dear  me  !  Dear  me  !  What  can  be 
done?  (Retires  to  fireplace,  stands  terribly  distressed, 
his  lips  muttering  occasionally.) 

FiGG.  Jawle's  system  delivers  us.  (Smilijig  blandly 
all  around.)  I  must  persuade  you  all  to  become 
members  of  the  Jawle  guild.  (  With  pi-oud  satisfac- 
tion.) I  founded  the  Jawle  guild.  I  was  the  first  to 
understand  Jawle.  Mrs.  Greenslade,  you'll  join  our 
guild  ? 

Cynthia.     Ye  —  es.     What  do  you  do? 

FiGG.     We   discuss   Jawle's    doctrines.     Sometimes 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  33 

Jawle  himself  comes.  But  his  health  is  very  precari- 
ous, is  it  not?  {appealing  to  Jawle.  Jawle  takes  no 
7iotice.  YiGG  prompting  ]a\ni.^  in  a  loud  tone.)  Your 
health. 

Jawle  {aj'ousing  himself  slightly  as  before).  Yes; 
my  vital  processes  are  so  abnormally  slow  that  at  any 
moment  it  may  become  advisable  to  bring  them  to  a 
conclusion.     ^Relapses  into  self-ahso7ptio7i^ 

(Cynthia  looks  inquiriiigly  at  Figg  for  an 
explanation!) 
Figg  (J,n  a  low,  reverential  tone').     Jawle  advocates 
the   forcible  and  abrupt  extinction  of  human  life  in 
certain  cases  —  his  own  included. 
Cy^tyha.  Qilarmed) .     Not  suicide? 
Figg  {reverently).     We  trust  he  won't  consider  it 
necessary  till  he  has  completed  his  social  philosophy. 
Cynthia.     Oh  !     {Leans  back  in  her  chair,  bewil- 
dered, gazing  at  Jawle,  who  preserves  his  attitude  of 
impenet7'able  self-absorption ^ 

(Dick,  Lord  Burnham,  and  Mrs.  Campion- 
Blake  have  been  talking  together.) 
Mrs.  Cam.  {gushingly  to  Lord  Burnham).  I'm  sure 
you  can  persuade  the  Duchess  of  Launceston  to  join 
us.  It's  so  necessary  that  the  reformation  of  London 
should  be  done  by  our  own  class,  and  not  allowed  to 
fall  into  the  hands  of  agitators  — 

{Durirtg  Mrs.  Campion-Blake's  speech,  Wor- 
rell has  entered  on  stairs  right  and  come 
down  to  foot  of  staircase^ 

D 


34  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Worrell  {rather  alarjned) .  I  beg  pardon,  madam 
—  the  three  parties  upstairs  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  {to  Lord  Burnham).  Our  vvorkingmen 
members  — 

Cynthia.     Well  ? 

Worrell.  They're  using  coarse  language  to  each 
other,  and  one  of  the  parties  has  assumed  a  threaten- 
ing attitude  towards  the  other  two  parties. 

{A  great  smash  heard  off.) 
(Worrell  goes  quickly  upstairs  and  off  right, 

followed  by  Cynthia,  Dick,  and  Figg.) 
(Mrs.  Campion-Blake  and  Lord  Burnham 
rise.     Palsam  stands  undecided.) 
Lord  Burnham.     I'm  afraid  our  workingmen  mem- 
bers have  not  learnt  drawing-room  methods  of  reform- 
ing London.     (Looking  at  watch.)     I  must  be  going. 
Mrs.  Cam.     No  —  you  must  attend  one  committee- 
meeting,  and  start  us  !     Just  one  ! 

Lord  Burnham  {going  off  left  with  Mrs.  Campion- 
Blake)  .     Very  well  —  just  one,  but  only  one. 
{Exeunt  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  and  Lord  Burnham.) 
(Jawle  has  preserved  an  attitude  of  iffipene- 
trable  calm,  has  not  moved  a  mtiscle  all 
through;  he  sits  with  hands  placidly  resting 
on  stomach,  and  gives  vent  to  his  melancholy 
chuckle.     Palsam  has  made  a  moveme7it 
up  stage  to  follow  the  others,  but  hearing 
Jawle,  hesitates,  fidgets  down   to  Jawle, 
evidently  anxious  to  question  him.) 


ACT  I  THE   CRUSADERS  35 

Palsam  (^fidgeting  round  Jawle).  I'm  deeply  in- 
terested in  your  proposal  for  legislating  against  this 
terrible  increase  of  the  human  race. 

Jawle  {shaking  his  head  slowly).  I've  no  faith  in 
legislation. 

Palsam.  Perhaps  a  course  of  public  meetings  and 
lectures  — 

Jawle  {shaking  his  head).  I've  no  faith  in  pubHc 
meetings  and  lectures. 

Palsam  {distressed).  No?  Perhaps  talking  to 
people  —  that's  my  way ;  when  I  see  anybody  doing 
anything  wicked  I  talk  to  them. 

Jawle.     I've  no  faith  in  talking  to  people. 

Palsam  {plaintively) .  Dear  me  !  Then  what  is 
to  be  done  ? 

Jawle  {authoritatively,  with  solemn  conviction). 
Nothing  can  be  done  ! 

FiGG  {has  entered  on  stairs).  Jawle,  the  London 
Reformation  Committee  is  just  going  to  sit.  I  want 
you  to  give  them  your  views. 

Jawle  {rising  with  great  difficulty,  to  Palsam).  I'll 
trouble  you  for  your  arm.  (Palsam  gives  it,  and  helps 
Jawle  up  stage  to  staircase.) 

Jawle  {to  Figg  on  staiixase).  I'm  not  prepared 
for  any  large  expenditure  of  vital  force  this  afternoon. 
(  Waddling  up  with  Palsam.) 

Figg.  No ;  you  can  just  prove  to  them  in  a  dozen 
words  that  they  are  utterly  wrong  and  mistaken  in  all 
they're  doing.     That's  all  that's  necessary. 


36  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Enter  Philos,  doo7'  left,  with  telegrams.    Palsam,  goi7tg 
iipstaiis  with  Jawle,  turns  and  calls  to  Philos. 

Palsam.  Mr.  Ingarfield,  in  talking  to  Lord  Burn- 
ham  just  now,  you  didn't  lash  the  .vices  of  high  hfe. 
Think  how  much  good  it  would  do  if  we  could  make 
an  example  of  somebody. 

(Philos,  absorbed,  takes  no  notice.  Exeunt 
Palsam,  Jawle,  and  Figg  upstairs,  and 
off  right.     V^k  enters  left.) 

Philos  {f-eading  telegrams) .  Either  I  must  forsake 
them  and  leave  them  to  perish,  or  I  must  go  through 
with  it.  And  yet,  how  shall  I  leave  her?  {Seeing 
Una.)     Well,  comrade? 

Una  {shakes  her  head  sadly).  Pm  not  your  com- 
rade now. 

Philos.     Yes,  my  comrade,  my  sister  always. 

Una.  No,  I  was  your  comrade  three  years  ago,  on 
that  Sunday  evening  in  the  old  garden  when  you  first 
told  my  father  and  me  all  your  dreams  and  plans. 
Ah  !  those  old  days  !  They'll  never  come  again. 
How  mad  we  were  ! 

{Laughs  a  little  bitterly,  goes  two  or  three 
steps  down  stage,  7Hght.) 

Philos  {rises,  follows  he)-).  These  days  are  better. 
There's  nothing  changed. 

Una.  Yes,  the  wind  has  {ivith  a  little  shiver). 
You'll  go  to  Costa  Rica? 

Philos.     I  must. 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  37 

Una.  And  leave  your  work  here  to  —  your  com- 
rade ?  (  Glancing  tip  at  him  for  a  motnenf.) 

Philos  {tenderly) .     Yes,  to  you  —  and  to  — 

Una  (going  away  f 7^0  ni  him).  No,  not  to  me;  I 
mean  to  your  new  .comrade. 

(Cynthia  comes  down  stairs^  right.) 

Philos  {sees  Cynthia).     Hush  ! 

Una    {running  past  him    towards   stairs,   with    a 
laugh).     Good  luck  to  you  and  your  new  comrade  ! 
(Cynthia  comes  down  centre,  rather  indig- 
nantly,   taking   no    notice   of  Una,  flings 
herself  rather  angrily  into  chair.) 

Philos  {goes  to  Cynthia,  bends  over  her).  What 
is  it? 

Una  {going  upstairs,  peeps  throttgh  curtains  ;  aside, 
bitterly).     She  won't  be  his  comrade  for  three  years. 

{Exit.) 

Philos  {bending  over  Cynthia).  What  has  dis- 
pleased you  ? 

Cynthia.  Everything.  They're  quarrelling  like 
bears.  Oh,  I'm  tired  of  them  !  They're  silly,  and 
fussy,  and  selfish.  You  are  the  only  one  of  us 
whose  heart  is  in  the  work.  All  the  money  is  legally 
mine.  Take  it  all !  Carry  out  your  plans  your  own 
way  ! 

Philos.     Mrs.  Greenslade  —  if  I  dared  tell  you. 

Cynthia.     What  ? 

Philos.     Perhaps  you  would  despise  me. 

Cynthia.     Despise  you? 


38  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Philos.  I  will  tell  you.  In  two  days  I  shall  have 
left  England. 

Cynthia.     You  must  go  ?     ( Quickly y  anxiously.^ 

Philos.     Would  you  have  me  stay? 

{She  looks  at  him,  says  no  thin g,   turns,  sits 
on  sofa.) 

Philos.  Ah  !  you  don't  know  what  wild  hopes  you 
raise  in  me  !  I  love  you  !  (Cynthia's  face  shoivs 
great  satisfaction  and  pride  thivugh  all  the  speech.) 
You're  life,  and  food,  and  air,  and  summer,  and  sun, 
and  strength,  and  breath  to  me.  Your  presence  is 
my  very  heaven.  I  love  you  !  I  have  loved  you 
ever  since  —  ah,  I  must  tell  you  —  from  the  moment 
I  saw  you  my  life  was  changed  !  Before  my  heart  was 
aware  of  it,  I  loved  you  ;  before  I  dared  breathe  it  to 
myself!  {Dropping  his  twice.)  When  you  belonged 
to  him  I  found  a  secret  passion  in  my  soul  I  could 
not  kill.  I  strove  against  it,  but  it  would  rebel  against 
me  and  live.  Don't  think  me  willingly  base.  Be 
sure  my  least  thought  has  never  sullied  you.  Be  sure 
I  would  have  gone  through  fire  rather  than  breathe  it 
to  you.  {Pause,  calmer.)  I  could  not  crush  it,  so 
I  turned  its  course.  The  love  it  would  have  been 
sacrilege  and  infamy  to  offer  to  you,  I  tried  to  fling 
broadcast  among  mankind,  for  your  sake.  You  gave 
me  new  hopes,  new  ideals,  new  resolves.  It  was  you 
that  filled  me  with  this  great  scheme.  Your  lips 
breathed  it  to  me  when  you  spoke  the  simplest  words. 
My  dream   has   been   to   make   this   great  city  wear 


ACT  I  THE  CRUSADERS  39 

some  image  of  your  beauty,  catch  some  reflection 
from  you,  and  be  a  fit  resting-place  for  you,  that 
you  might  breathe  its  air  for  a  moment  as  you  passed 
by. 

Cynthia  {highly  gratified,  softly).  I  Hke  you  to 
speak  hke  this.  How  you  love  me  !  You  make  me 
feel  I  could  do  anything  if  you  were  beside  me.  Oh, 
let  me  help  you  !     What  can  I  do  ? 

Philos.  You  love  me  !  {She  looks  down  ;  he  takes 
her  hand.)  I  know  you  do  !  Take  up  my  work  while 
I  am  away  from  England. 

Cynthia  (pained).  Oh,  but  I  don't  want  you  to 
leave  me  ! 

Philos  {very  tenderly).  You  don't  wish  me  to  do 
my  duty? 

Cynthla..  Yes,  of  course,  but  I  don't  want  you  to 
leave  me. 

Philos  {after  a  pause,  sad,  resigned).     I'll  stay. 

Cynthia.     No,  —  go  !     I  won't  say  another  word. 

Philos.     Una  Dell  will  help  us.     She's  beaten  gold. 

Cynthia.  I  don't  want  any  one  to  help  you  except 
me.     I  want  it  to  be  all  our  work. 

Philos.  Let  it  be  burs ;  but  if  you  need  a  coun- 
sellor at  any  time,  go  to  her. 

Cynthia.     How  long  shall  you  be  away? 

Philos.     Six  months  at  most. 

Cynthia.  Oh,  but  that's  eternity  !  It's  cruel  of 
you.     Must  you  go? 

Vylylo'S^  {after  a  pause) .     No,  I'll  stay.     {Sighs.) 


"40  THE  CRUSADERS  act  i 

Cynthia.     No,  no  ;  it's  selfish  of  me. 

Philos.  It's  selfish  of  me  to  ask  you  to  share  such 
a  life  as  mine.  Have  you  counted  the  cost?  It  will 
not  be  easy. 

Cynthia.  You  doubt  me?  I'll  take  any  vow,  any 
promise  — 

Philos.     There  is  no  need  of  that. 

Cynthia.     You  trust  me? 

Philos.  As  my  own  soul.  When  I  return  it  will 
be  to  claim  my  bride  ? 

Cynthia.     There's  my  hand  ;  it's  yours. 

Philos  intakes  it,  kisses  it  reverently,  whispers). 
Your  lips  ?  {She  bends  towards  him  ;  he  is  abont  to 
kiss  her.)  No.  I  would  have  you  still  above  me, 
still  out  of  my  reach.  And  let  it  show  how  sacred 
was  my  love  for  you,  that  lest  there  should  be  the 
least  dishonour  in  my  first  love  for  you,  I  will  not  kiss 
your  lips  till  I  return.     You'll  keep  that  kiss  for  me  ? 

Cynthia.     Till  you  return  to  claim  your  bride. 

{He  kisses  her  hand  again  reverently.) 

Curtain  falls. 

{Fifteen  months  pass  between  Acts  I.  and  I  J.) 


ACT   II 


Scene  —  The  Cottages  and  Rose-farm  at  Wimbledon. 

Two  deeply  thatched  cottages,  one  on  left  side  running  from 
footlights  up  to  back  of  stage;  the  other  and  larger  one  is  built 
diagonally  across  stage  on  the  right.  They  are  both  very  quaint 
and  old-fashioned,  and  are  completely  smothered  in  roses  of  all 
kinds. 

Roses  everywhere  about  the  garden. 

Doors  leading  into  each  cottage. 

An  arch  of  roses  stretches  from  one  cottage  to  another  at 
back. 

Garden  seats  and  an  old  tree-trunk  down  stage. 

It  is  the  height  of  summer. 

A  summer  sunset  at  the  beginning  of  act;  moonlight  during 
the  later  part. 

Enter  Dick  i7i  evening  dress  fro7n  door  of  cottage  at 
back,  comes  down  to  back  of  garde7i  seat,  looks  up 
at  balcony. 

Dick.  How  much  longer  do  you  mean  to  keep  me 
dangling  after  you,  madam?  I've  wasted  fifteen 
months  on  your  committee,  and  I've  neither  reformed 
London,  nor  unreformed  you.     (  Walking  up  towards 

41 


42  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

balcony?)  I  wonder  whether  she  knows  where  that 
Ingarfield  fellow  really  is.  He's  been  back  in  Eng- 
land more  than  a  week.  I've  bowled  him  out.  But 
when  does  my  innings  begin  ?  (^Looking  roVnd.)  I've 
a  good  mind  to  risk  it  to-night.  (  Going  tip  balcony, 
steps  cautiously?) 

Enter  from  cottage  at  back  Lord  Burnham  /;/  evenifig 
dress,  with  telegrams  and  despatches  in  hand,  evi- 
dently excited  and  in  bad  temper. 

Dick  {on  balcony,  opens  window).  Window  open  ! 
Her  room  !  {Looks  in,  comes  back  to  front.)  It's 
too  bad  to  throw  temptation  in  my  way  like  this  ! 

Lord  Burnham  {turning  in  vexation,  catches  sight 
^/Dick).     Dick! 

Dick  {surpj-ised,  comes  luwriedly  down).     Sir? 

Lord  Burnham.  What  the  devil  are  you  doing 
there  ? 

Dick  {lamely) .  I  was  just  a —  {seeing  the  despatches 
in  Lord  Burnham's  hand).  More  bad  news  from 
Costa  Rica,  sir? 

Lord  Burnham.  I  wish  Costa  Rica  was  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  ! 

Dick  {following  him).  Who  could  have  imagined 
that  confounded  Ingarfield  would  have  got  us  into 
such  a  mess  with  the  Costa  Rica  Government  ? 

Lord  Burnham.  Who  could  have  imagined  any- 
thing else  ?     {Sitting  on  garden  seat. ) 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  43 

Dick.     We  can't  really  be  liable. 

Lord  Burnham.  We  gave  a  guarantee  that  he 
should  look  after  his  damned  ne'er-do-wells.  Well, 
naturally  the  Costa  Rica  Government  say  the  ne'er- 
do-wells  weren't  looked  after,  or  the  rioting  and  plun- 
dering would  never  have  happened ;  and  we  shall 
have  to  pay  four  or  five  million  damages. 

Dick  {^cheerfully').  There  must  be  some  way  out 
of  it.  International  law  is  so  jolly  foggy.  Can't  we 
bring  a  big  claim  against  Costa  Rica  for  unlawfully 
imprisoning  Ingarfield? 

Lord  Burnham.  It  was  his  escape  that  was  un- 
lawful. They're  demanding  we  should  send  him  back 
to  stand  his  trial. 

Dick.  Well,  let's  catch  him,  and  send  him  back, 
and  tell  them  to  take  it  out  of  him. 

Lord  Burnham.  So  I  would,  but  the  political 
dissenters  have  taken  it  up,  and  they're  making  a  hero 
and  a  martyr  of  Ingarfield.  This  country  would  be 
easy  to  govern  if  it  were  not  for  the  political  dis- 
senters. They're  calling  mass- meetings  against  the 
government  everywhere,  —  Manchester  to-morrow, 
Newcastle  on  Thursday.  {Rises  angrily,  comes  up  to 
Dick.)  Now  understand  me,  I've  had  enough  of  this 
tomfoolery  ! 

Dick.  You  don't  call  reforming  London,  tomfool- 
ery, sir? 

Lord  Burnham.     Reform  my  grandmother  ! 

Dick.     Well,  sir,  you're  President,  and  if  you  bring 


44  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

forward  a  comprehensive  scheme  of  ancestral  im- 
provement, I  daresay  we  can  work  it  in. 

Lord  Burnham  {hurt).  It's  good  taste  to  jeer  at 
me,  Dick,  after  having  ruined  my  reputation  before 
the  country  ! 

Dick.     I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 

Lord  Burnham.  Then  don't  disgrace  me  any 
further  ! 

Dick.     What  do  you  mean? 

Lord  Burnhaini.  You're  a  married  man.  People 
are  talking  about  you  and  Mrs.  Greenslade. 

Dick.  On  my  honour,  there's  been  no  more  than 
a  harmless  flirtation. 

Lord  Burnham.  Then  break  it  off,  give  up  your 
house  down  here,  come  back  to  town  with  me  to- 
night, and  don't  see  her  any  more. 

Dick  {shuffling  aiu ay).     I  can't  come  back  to-night. 

Lord  Burnham.  You  won't?  I  haven't  been  a 
bad  father  to  you,  Dick. 

Dick.  I  promise  you,  sir,  there  shall  be  no  occa- 
sion for  any  future  gossip  about  me  and  that  lady. 
{Holds  out  hand.) 

Lord  Burnham  {looks  at  him).  I  believe  you. 
{Takes  hand,  shakes  it  cordially.)  And  we'll  give  up 
reforming  London.  I've  had  enough  of  it.  I  shall 
resign  at  once.  If  we  could  only  find  where  this 
fellow  Ingarfield  is  !  Read  those.  (  Giving  telegrams 
and  despatches  to  Dick,  who  goes  to  seat  and  reads 
them. ) 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  45 

Cynthia  in  evening  dress,  ^vithoiU  wrap,  enters  from 
cottage  at  back,  comes  down. 

Lord  Burnham.  I  wish  the  Costa  Rica  people 
had  hanged  him  — 

Dick.     Eh? 

Lord  Burnham.  By  mistake.  They  could  have 
apologised  for  it. 

Cynthia.     What's  the  matter.  Lord  Burnham? 

Lord  Burnham.  I'm  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Greenslade, 
that  we  ever  tried  our  hand  at  improving  this  very 
excellent  planet,  just  as  it  was  revolving  on  its  own 
axis  so  comfortably. 

Cynthia.     You've  heard  of  the  public  meeting. 

Lord  Burnham.     At  Newcastle? 

Cynthia.     Newcastle  ?     No  ;  here  in  Wimbledon. 

Lord  Burnham.     Wimbledon? 

Cynthia.  The  residents  have  summoned  a  public 
meeting  calling  upon  us  to  remove  the  rose-farm, 
because  they  say  the  rose-farming  girls  have  not 
been  behaving  nicely,  and  are  spoiling  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

Lord  Burnham.  They  don't  put  it  down  to  the 
government  ? 

Cynthia.     No  ;  not  at  present. 

Lord  Burnham.  That's  lucky.  I  must  resign  my 
presidency  before  they  do. 

Cynthia.  Oh,  you  won't  desert  us  just  as  every- 
thing is  going  wrong  ! 


46  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Lord  Burnham.     I'm  afraid  I  must. 

Dick  {aside,  looking  at  Cynthia).  She's  more 
charming  than  ever.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  promise 
to  give  her  up  !     I  won't ! 

Lord  Burnham.  You  told  me  Mr.  Ingarfield  might 
be  here  to-night. 

Cynthia  {embai'rassed).  I  thought  he  might  be. 
{Turns  away.) 

Lord  Burnham.  You've  not  seen  him  since  his 
return  from  Costa  Rica? 

Cynthia.     No. 

Lord  Burnham.  It  would  be  wise  for  him  to  meet 
me. 

Cynthia.  Why  won't  you  tell  me  if  the  Govern- 
ment will  send  him  back  to  stand  his  trial  ? 

Lord  Burnham.  I  must  not  pledge  myself.  Are 
you  in  personal  communication  with  him  ? 

Cynthia.     No  ;  but  I  could  send  him  a  message. 

Lord  Burnham.  Tell  him  I  wish  to  see  him  at 
once  in  your  presence  — 

Cynthia.     In  my  presence  ? 

Lord  Burnham.     Is  there  any  objection? 

Cynthia.     No.     When  and  where  shall  it  be  ? 

Lord  Burnham.  If  I  could  see  him  before  the 
Cabinet  meeting  to-morrow  afternoon.  Would  to- 
morrow at  eleven  here  be  convenient  to  you  ? 

Cynthia.  Yes.  {Aside.)  I  shall  have  to  meet 
him  !     {Looks  rather  perplexed.) 


V 

ACT  II  THE   CRUSi^B^E^ 

Palsam  in  evening  dress  enters  from  cottage  at  back, 
comes  gingerly  down. 

(Dick  has  risen,  brings  telegrams   and  de- 
spatches to  Lord  Burnham.) 

Dick.     What's  to  be  done,  sir? 
Lord  Burnham.     Resign,  go  to  the  country,  and 
get  kicked  out.     (  Catching  sight  of  Palsam.)     Here's 
that  Httle  mongrel !     {Hurries  to  garden  seat,  sits  and 
assumes  profound  interest  in  the  despatches.^ 

(Dick   hurriedly   crosses   over   to   Cynthia, 

talks  ivith  her.) 
(Palsam  looks  on  each  side  to  see  whom  he 
shall  victimise.) 

Worrell  enters  from  cottage  at  back  with  coffee  on 
tray,  comes  down  to  Cynthia  and  Dick,  gives  thetn 
coffee. 

(Palsam  finally  decides  to  victimise  Lord 
Burnham,  comes  to  back  of  garden  seat, 
leans  amiably  over  to  Lord  Burnil4M,  who 
is  profoundly  occupied  with  his  despatches^ 
(Cynthia  and  Dick  take  coffee  frofn  Wor- 
rell.)   . 

Palsam  {coughs,  fidgets,  then  in  a  very  insinuating 
way).  Howvery  terrible  these  recent  turf- frauds  are, 
my  lord  ! 

Lord  Burnham  {without  looking  tip) .  Shocking  ! 
Shocking  ! 

4* 


48  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Palsam.     And  one  of  your  trainers  was  concerned. 

Lord  Burnham.  .  Was  he  ? 

Palsam  {171  his  pleasantest  manner,  with  a  sweet 
insinuating  smile).  Can't  I  tempt  you  to  give  up 
horse-racing,  my  lord? 

Lord  Burnham  {uiith  affable  contempt^  in  quite  an 
indifferent  tone).  I  don't  think  so,  Mr.  Palsam.  I 
don't  think  so.  ( Calls  Y)\CKf?'om  Cynthia,  takes  him 
a  step  or  two  up  stage.) 

(Worrell  crosses  with  coffee  to  Palsam.) 

Lord  Burnham  {pointing  out  something  in  despatch 
as  if  calling  Dick's  attention  to  it,  in  a  low  tone  to 
Dick).  If  somebody  doesn't  kick  Palsam,  I  shall. 
{Pockets  despatches.) 

Dick.     I  think  I  would.     {Talks  to  Cynthia.) 

Cynthia  {to  Worrell,  who  is  going  up  stage). 
Worrell !  (Worrell  stops.  Palsam  watches  Worrell 
suspiciously^ 

Cynthia.     Ask  Victorine  to  bring  my  lace  shawl. 

Worrell.     Yes,  madam. 

{Exit  into  cottage  right,  watched  by  Palsam, 
who  the  moment  he  has  gone  off,  turns  to 
Cynthia.  ) 

Palsam.     Is  that  —  quite  —  prudent  ? 

Cynthia  {blatikly).     What? 

Palsam.  There  was  quite  a  guilty  look  on  his  face 
when  you  mentioned  Victorine. 

Cynthia  {stares  at  Palsam,  calmly) .  What  do  you 
mean,  Mr.  Palsam? 


ACT  II  THE   CRUSADERS  49 

Palsam  {quickly ,  nervously).     Oh,  I  don't  positively 
accuse  him ;  but  she  is  French,  you  know. 
Cynthia.     Worrell  is  a  most  respectable  man. 
Palsam  {eagerly) .     That's  it !  that's  it !     You  never 
know  what's  underneath  outward  respectability. 

Cynthia  {rises,  calmly  indignant).  I  don't  wish  to 
know. 

Palsam  {aside).  There's  something  wrong  going 
on  here.  I  feel  it's  my  duty  to  miss  my  last  train  and 
find  out  what  it  is.     I  will ! 

(ViCTORiNE,  a  smart,  good-looking  French 
maid,  enters  from  cottage  at  back  with 
Cynthia's  shawl ^ 

ViCTORiNE.     Madame's  shawl. 

(Dick  takes  shawl  from  Victorine  and  goes 
down  to  Cynthia  with  it.  Palsam  watches 
Victorine  very  closely.  Dick  wraps  shawl 
round  Cynthia.) 

Victorine.  Which  cottage  will  madame  please  to 
occupy  to-night  ? 

Cynthia.     My  own,  Victorine. 

(Dick,  who  is  cloaking  Cynthia,  shows  he 
notices  this.) 

Worrell  enters,  collects  coffee  cups,  waits. 

Victorine.    And  Madame  Blake? 
Cynthia.     Mrs.  Blake  will  stay  as  usual  in  her  own 
rooms  in  the  visitors'  cottage. 

e 


50 


THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 


Palsam  {aside).  That  creature  is  asking  those 
questions  for  some  purpose.  {To  Cynthia.)  Don't 
you  find  it  very  inconvenient  having  visitors  here  ? 

Cynthia.     Rather,  the  cottages  being  divided. 

Palsam.  How  do  you  arrange  the  —  a  —  accom- 
modation ? 

Cynthia.  I  reserve  that  cottage  {pointing  left) 
entirely  for  my  lady  visitors,  and  I  send  my  gentle- 
men to  the  little  inn  —  it's  very  comfortable.  My 
own  rooms  and  the  reception-rooms  are  all  on  that 
side.     {Pointing  7ight.)     Why? 

Palsam.  Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  ( Watching  Vic- 
torine  and  Worrell.) 

Worrell  {has  been  watching  his  chaiice  to  speak  to 
Cynthia).  Mr.  Portal  is  in  the  drawing-room, 
madam,  and  would  like  to  see  you  and  Lord  Burn- 
ham. 

Lord  Burnham.     See  me? 

Cynthia.  He  is  the  curate  here.  I  suppose  he 
has  come  about  the  rose-farmers. 

Palsam  {all  alive  with  curiosity^.  We'd  better 
all  go  into  the  drawing-room.  My  lord  —  if  you'll 
come  — 

Lord  Burnham.  Thank  you.  I'm  very  comfort- 
able where  I  am.     {Seated  with  Cynthia.) 

Cynthia.     Show  Mr.  Portal  to  us  here. 

{Exit  Worrell  at  back.) 

Victorine  {waiting).  Madame  has  no  further 
commands  ? 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  51 

Cynthia.  Wait  for  me  in  my  sitting-room  down- 
stairs, Victorine.  (^^// Victorine  at  back.) 

Palsam.  It's  terrible  to  think  what  may  have  been 
going  on  at  this  rose-farm  in  our  absence.  This 
matter  must  be  thoroughly  probed.  (/«  great  glee?) 
We  mustn't  shrink  from  knowing  the  truth  merely 
because  it  may  be  shocking  and  disgusting.  {Fuss- 
ing —  ail  alert.) 

Enter  Worrell  at  back,  showing  in  the  Rev.  Alger- 
non Portal,  a  bland  curate,  with  lank,  sandy 
hair,  and  p7'ecise,  rather  nervous  7na?i7iers. 

Worrell  {a7t7iou7tces).     Mr.  Portal !  (Exit.) 

Portal  {ivith  p7'ecise,  nervous,  cordial  man7ier). 
My  dear  Mrs.  Greenslade,  I've  taken  the  really  un- 
pardonable liberty  of  calhng  at  this  hour  because 
I  heard  that  Lord  Burnham  was  with  you.  {Nervous 
little  chuckle  —  looki7ig  at  Lord  Burnhainl) 

Cynthia  {p7'esents).     Mr.  Portal  —  Lord  Burnham. 

Portal.  I  am  charged  to  convey  to  you  a  very 
important  decision  arrived  at  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Wimbledon  with  respect  to  these  young  persons  em- 
ployed on  your  rose-farm  — 

Palsam  {very  dist7-essed  a7id  agitated).  Dear  me  ! 
dear  me  ! 

Portal  {gla7ices  at  Palsam  sy7npathisingly) .  Yes, 
it  is  indeed  a  painful  subject.  {Turns  to  Lord  Burn- 
ham.)    I  thought  it  might  be  advantageous  to  you, 


52  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Lord  Burnham,  to  know  that  unless  the  rose- farm  is 
immediately  removed  from  Wimbledon,  our  member 
will  question  the  Home  Secretary  on  the  subject.  I 
need  not  add  the  inhabitants  of  Wimbledon  are  warm 
supporters  of  the  Government,  but  —  really  —  you  — 
a  —  understand.     (^E)ids  in  a  little  nervous  chuckle^ 

Lord  Burnham.     Not  quite.     Who  is  aggrieved  ? 

Portal.  The  better  class  of  residents  in  Wimble- 
don.    I  have  had  constant  complaints. 

Balsam.     Dear  me  ! 

Portal  {looks  sy?np a thi singly  at  Palsam)  .  Ye-es  ! 
{Turns  to  Lord  Burnham.)  Wimbledon  being  a 
respectable  residential  neighbourhood,  of  course  the 
mission  of  the  Church  in  a  respectable  neighbourhood 
is  —  a  —  naturally  to  attend  to  the  needs  of  the  re- 
spectable residential  —  a  —  a  —  residents,  and  really, 
when  a  quantity  of  badly  behaved  persons  are  brought 
into  a  respectable  neighbourhood,  I  am  sure,  my  lord, 
you'll  agree  with  me  that  a  —  it  is — a — {nervous 
little  chuckle')  a — most  embarrassing. 

Lord  Burnham.  Decidedly,  Mr.  Portal,  wicked 
people  are  very  embarrassing,  and  the  question  what 
to  do  with  them  —  both  in  this  world  and  the  next  — 
is  beset  with  difficulties. 

Cynthl^.  But  we  have  engaged  most  respectable 
matrons. 

Portal.     I  fear  you  cannot  rely  upon  them. 

Palsam.  I  knew  those  matrons  weren't  to  be 
trusted. 


ACT  II  THE   CRUSADERS  -  53 

Portal.  The  most  extraordinary  conduct  is  fre- 
quent. 

Palsam.     Dear  me  !  dear  me  ! 

Portal.     I  have  myself  witnessed  —  a  — 

Palsam  {eagerly) .     Yes  —  what  ? 

Portal.     Some  very  indecorous  behaviour. 

Palsam.  Could  you  point  out  the  young  per- 
sons? 

Portal.  There  is  one  in  particular.  She  is  known 
amongst  her  companions  as  the  Queen  of  the  Mar- 
shal Niels. 

Cynthia.     But  that's  our  model  girl ! 

Dick  {Jialf  aside') .     What  must  all  the  rest  be  like  ! 

Palsam.  My  lord,  this  is  terrible,  and  I  think  you, 
as  President  — 

Lord  Burnham.  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  held  respon- 
sible for  the  very  natural  consequences  of  taking  these 
poor,  ignorant  women  from  a  state  of  semi-starvation, 
feeding  them  well,  and  turning  them  loose  in  a  place 
like  this.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Portal  {rises),  I  cannot 
consider  this  as  any  business  of  mine  {taking  out 
cigar-case,  selecting  cigar) . 

Palsam.  Oh,  my  lord,  when  anything  wicked  is 
taking  place,  it's  everybody's  business  —  it's  your 
business,  it's  my  business  — 

Lord  Burnham.  Ah,  well,  then,  perhaps  you'll  be 
good  enough  to  attend  to  it  while  I  smoke  my  cigar. 

{Exit  along  garden  path.) 

Palsam.     Mr.    Portal,   we   must   look  into  this  at 


54  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

once.  If  you'll  come  with  me,  I'll  conduct  you  to 
these  young  women's  quarters.  Mrs.  Greenslade,  per- 
haps you'll  accompany  us,  and  then  we  can  thoroughly 
discuss  all  the  particulars. 

Cynthia.     I  really  can't  leave  my  guests. 

Palsam.  Come  along,  Mr.  Portal.  (Portal  joins 
him  at  back  of  seat ;  affectionately  links  his  aim  in 
Portal's,  and  takes  him  tip  to  airhway  at  back.  As 
they  are  going  off,  looks  up  at  Portal.)  Of  what 
nature  was  this  indecorous  behaviour? 

{Exit  with  Portal  vejy  slowly  at  archway.) 

(Dick  watches  Palsam  off,  comes  to  back  of  seat.) 

Dick.     Mrs.  Greenslade  — 

Cynthia.     Well  ? 

Dick.     I've  promised  my  father  to  break  it  off. 

Cynthia.     Break  what  off? 

Dick.     My  attachment  to  you. 

Cynthia.     Shall  you  keep  your  promise  ? 

Dick.     Yes  —  after  to-morrow. 

Cynthia.     Why  not  to-night? 

Dick  {approaching  her  passionately) .  Because  this 
place  was  built  on  purpose  to  play  Romeo  and 
Juliet  — 

Cynthia.  Indeed  it  wasn't ;  it  was  built  for  a  farm- 
house. 

Dick  {passionately) .     Cynthia  ! 

Cynthia.     Take  care  !     Mrs.  Blake  can  see  us. 

Dick  {following  her).  I've  followed  you  like  a 
spaniel,  and  how  have  you  rewarded  me  ? 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  55 

Cynthia.  I've  given  you  thousands  of  civil  words, 
hundreds  of  smiles,  dozens  of  roses,  and  several  pres- 
sures of  the  hand. 

Dick.     Do  you  call  that  rewarding? 

Cynthia.  You  talk  of  "rewarding"?  You  don't 
know  what  love  means. 

Mrs.  Campion-Blake  e7itei's  from  cottage,  door  right. 

Dick.  Cynthia,  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  play  cat 
and  mouse  with  me  any  longer  !  Tell  me,  is  there 
any  hope  ?     {^Leaning  over  the  seat  close  to  her.) 

(Mrs.  Campion-Blake  cojnes  down  behind  Dick.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  Bad  children  !  (Dick  steps  backwards, 
Cynthia  shows  a  little  confusion.)  Bad  children  ! 
{To  Dick.)  Run  away  !  I  want  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Greenslade.  {More  co7ninandingly .)  Run  away  !  I'm 
ashamed  of  you  !    (  Cojnes  left  of  seat  beside  Cynthia.) 

(Dick  exits  sulkily  right.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {very  reprovingly) .  Now,  my  dear,  this 
must  positively  stop  ! 

Cynthia  {innocently) .     What  must? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Don't  fence  !  If  Mr.  Palsam  finds  out 
anything,  what  will  be  the  end  of  it  ? 

Cynthia.  Oh,  Mr.  Palsam  is  so  busy  suspecting  all 
the  innocent  people,  he  has  no  time  to  attend  to  — 
{Stops,  CO? fused.) 

Mrs.  Cam.     The  guilty  ! 

Cynthia.     No  —  no,  indeed  ! 


56  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Mrs.  Cam.     Well,  shall  we  say  —  the  not  proven  ? 

Cynthia.     But  you  encouraged  Mr.  Rusper's  visits. 

Mrs.  Cam.  I  know  I  did.  I  wanted  him  and  his 
father  to  join  the  League.  How  was  I  to  know  that 
you  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  allow  him  to  make  love 
to  you?  However,  now  that  the  Duchess  of  Launces- 
ton  has  joined  us,  we  can  do  very  well  without  them. 
The  Duchess  is  the  dearest  woman  !  the  sweetest 
woman  !  —  I  never  met  with  any  woman  with  whom  I 
had  so  much  real  sympathy  as  the  Duchess !  —  but  she 
is  just  a  little  bit  prudish,  and  I  wouldn't  have  that 
dear  creature's  name  connected  with  the  faintest  breath 
of  scandal. 

Cyt^tyha  {a  Utile  hotly).  You  need  not  fear.  There 
will  be  no  scandal. 

Mrs.  Cam.  That's  precisely  what  Lady  Barringer 
said  the  very  night  before  she  eloped  with  her  groom. 
Now,  my  dear,  for  the  Duchess's  sake  as  well  as  for 
your  own,  you  must  give  Mr.  Rusper  his  conge.  Be- 
sides, wasn't  there  some  kind  of  an  understanding 
between  you  and  Mr.  Ingarfield  ?  (  Watching  Cyn- 
thia closely.) 

Cynthia  {i-ather  confused).  No  —  at  least  —  I 
did  think  I  cared  for  him,  but  that  was  more  than 
a  year  ago. 

Mrs.  Cam.     He  has  no  claim  on  you? 

Cynthia.  No  —  except  —  well,  I  was  foohsh  enough 
to  promise  him  one  kiss  when  he  returned  from  Costa 
Rica,  but  I  meant  at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks  or  months, 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  57 

and  I  didn't  suppose  that  everything  was  going  wrong 
as  it  has  done. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Just  so !  We  must  reorganise  the 
reformation  of  London  on  a  totally  new  basis.  Burn- 
ham  wants  to  resign.  We'll  let  him.  Mr.  Palsam 
and  Mr.  Ingarfield  must  both  be  got  rid  of,  and  we 
must  take  the  matter  in  our  own  hands. 

C\T^iTHiA.     Whose  hands? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Yours  and  mine,  with  the  Duchess  for 
President.  And  then  we  shall  reform  London  in  real 
earnest. 

Cynthia.  But  the  Duchess  is  very  high  church, 
and  Mr.  Greenslade  detested  high  church. 

Mrs.  Cam.  My  dear,  poor  Mr.  Greenslade  was  not 
in  a  fit  mental  state  to  be  able  to  judge ;  it  requires 
a  very  profound  intellect  to  understand  such  things. 
Depend  on  it,  it's  the  only  way. 

(Cynthia  walks  slowly  to  right  and  plucks  roses.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {looking  at  Cynthia).  Ingarfield  will 
spoil  everything  again  if  he  interferes.  He  must  be 
got  rid  of  somehow  !  The  Duchess  would  never  en- 
dure him  !  {Exit  into  cottage,  left.) 

Cynthia.  Throw  over  Mr.  Ingarfield  !  I  wish 
Una  Dell  would  come.  I  wonder  if  my  letter  reached 
her.     (  Goes  up  to  balcony-steps  behind  seat. ) 

Enter  at  back  Burge  Jawle  and  Figg  i7i  evening  dress. 

Jawle  {continues  his  discourse  as  he  waddles  down 
stage.     Figg  brings   cushion    to  seat,  very  obsequious 


58  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

and  attentive) .  Yes,  the  feminine  nature  is  essentially 
vile,  small,  narrow,  malignant,  treacherous  —  (^pauses, 
surveys  the  different  seats,  sees  comfortable  corner), 
I  think  I  will  occupy  that  seat.  ( Waddles  up  to  it, 
arranges  his  cushion,  makes  himself  comfortable .)  I 
have  not  assimilated  that  cold  veal  pie  I  had  for 
breakfast  yesterday  morning.     {Tapping  his  chest.) 

FiGG.  No.  I've  never  been  able  to  understand 
the  rabid  admiration  current  in  artistic  circles  for 
what  is  nauseously  termed  the  female  form  divine. 

Jawle  {a7'ra7iging  his  cushion).  True  !  {^Leans, 
co7nfo7'tably.)  The  natural  outhne  of  the  female  figure 
is  hideous  and  repellant  in  the  extreme. 

Cynthia  {comes  down  to  seat  with  her  rose) .  What 
are  you  saying,  Mr.  Jawle? 

Jawle.  The  truth.  Take  your  own  case.  You  are 
supposed  to  have  considerable  personal  attractions. 
Analyse  your  personal  attractions.  Take  a  microscope. 
Look  at  your  hand.  {Takiiig  her  hand.)  What  is  it? 
A  coarse,  scaly  epidermis,  studded  with  huge  bristles  — 
•  Cynthia  {angrily  withdrawing  her  hand).  But 
ladies'  hands  are  not  meant  to  be  looked  at  under 
microscopes. 

Jawle.     What  are  they  meant  for? 

Cynthia  {looking  at  her  hand,  holding  it  up  in  front 
of  her).     To  be  kissed  on  great  occasions. 

Jawle  {shakes  his  head).  Go  a  step  further. 
Your  so-called  beauty  is  built  up  by  the  processes 
of  nutrition.     Follow  the  stages  of  nutrition  — 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  59 

Cynthia  {disgusted).     Oh,  please   not,  just   after 
dinner  ! 

Jawle  {to  Figg)  .    See  how  people  resent  the  truth  ! 
{Composes  himself.) 

(Figg  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  lifts  his  eye- 
brows in  sympathy,  rises,  and  goes  down  to 
Cynthia.     Jawle  composes  himself ,  places 
his  hands  on  his  stomach,  and  goes  into  a 
reverie.) 
{Lights  appear  in  the  cottage  windows^ 
Figg  {to  Cynthia).     You  mustn't  be  offended  with 
him.     We  shall  not  have  him  with  us  long. 
Cynthia.     What  do  you  mean? 
Figg.     He  has  finished  the  last  volume  of  his  social 
philosophy.     By  the  way,  what  is  the  depth  of  that  large 
pond  at  the  end  of  the  grounds  ? 

Cynthia.     From  six  to  nine  feet.     Why? 
Figg.     Nothing.     He   contemplated    it    for    more 
than  an  hour  this  morning.     I've  always  thought  that 
the  end  would  come  by  drowning. 

Cynthia.     Surely  Mr.  Jawle  is  not  in  earnest? 
Figg  {in  a  tone  of  benevolent  pity) .    Not  in  earnest? 
Cynthia.     At  least  he  won't  do  it  here  ? 
Figg  {solemnly).     Everything   is   prepared.     I   am 
his  sole  executor. 

{All  the  while  Jawle  remains  in  absorbed 
conte77iplation,  quite  regardless.) 
Cynthia  {rather  alarmed).     Then,  if  there  is  the 
least  danger   of   his  doing   anything  so  foolish   and 


6o  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

wicked,  I  beg  you'll  take  him  back  to  town  to-night. 
Tell  him  so,  please  !  I  really  can't  have  it  happen 
here.  {Goes  up,  7neets  Lord  Burnham,  then  comes 
do7vn,  and  sits  on  rockwork  left.) 

(FiGG  goes  over  to  Jawle,  looks  at  him,  Jawle 
remains  sublimely  unconscious.     Figg  as- 
sumes a  7vorshipful  attitude^ 
(Lord  Burnham  and  Dick  stroll  on  right, 
smoking.      Dick    sees    Figg    worshipping 
Jawle,  and  stays  at  back  of  seat  to  look  at 
Jawle.) 
Figg   {to   Dick).     How  wonderful!     He   has   the 
rarest  faculty  for  burying  himself. 

Dick.  Ah  !  that'll  come  in  useful  when  he  com- 
mits suicide.  {Strolls  up  to  balcony  steps^  and  sits 
and  smokes^ 

Enter  from  archway  at  back  Palsam,  very  excited  and 
self-important. 

Palsam  {coming  on  a  step  or  tivo,  calls  off) .  This 
way,  madam  !  {vejy  sternly). 

Enter  at  archway  the  Queen  of  the  Marshal  Neils, 
a  saucy ^  sly,  pretty,  common  London  girl,  in  a  smart 
cotton  gown.  She  comes  in  with  a  great  affectation  of 
modesty  and  shamefacedness,  curtseying  profou7idly 
all  round. 

Palsam  {calls  off).  You,  madam,  stay  there  till 
you're  wanted.     We    shall   require   you,   Mr.   Portal. 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  6i 

My  lord,  you  said  this  was  no  business  of  yours  — 
listen  to  this  ! 

Portal  comes  in  at  archway  rather  bashfully ;  Pal- 
SAM  follows  a  step  or  two  on  his  rights  very  severe 
a7id  consequential. 

Palsam  {motions  Queen  to  step  forward).  Now! 
The  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth  ! 

Queen  {coming  fonvard,  curtseying).  Oh,  if  you 
please,  sir,  and  kind  ladies  and  gentlemen  all,  it's  no 
denying  there  have  been  dreadful  carryings  on,  and 
sich  conduct  as  it's  made  my  heart  bleed  for  to  see. 
But  it  isn't  me  !     It's  all  that  Glory  Deejohn  ! 

Palsam.  Take  care,  hussy !  I  have  the  plainest 
evidence  against  you ! 

Queen.     Have  you,  sir? 

Palsam  {taking  out  pencil  a^id  pocketbook).  And  I 
shall  take  down  every  word  you  say. 

Queen  {snivel —  snivel —  and  then  a  sudden  out- 
burst of  teai's) .  Oh,  if  you  please,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, there  never  was  a  poor  girl  so  worrited  and 
buffeted  with  temptation  as  I've  been ;  and  if  I  have 
give  way  at  times,  there  have  been  other  times  when 
I've  been  quite  a  pattern ! 

Palsaal     a  pattern ! 

Queen.  Yes,  sir.  Ask  any  of  the  girls  else.  I've 
talked  to  'em  about  the  wickedness  of  their  ways,  till 
I've  drawed  streaming  tears  down  their  cheeks.     And 


62  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

the  bewtiful  language  I've  used  !    I'm  sure  the  dear 
good  gentleman  himself  {glancing  at  Portal,  ogling 
him)  couldn't  have  used  more  bewtiful  language  than 
I  did  !     (Portal  moves  a  Utile,  coughs,  blushes,  and 
looks  nervous.)     Gh,  sir  {to  Portal,  with  a  renewed 
burst  of  tears),  you  would  have  been  joyful  if  you 
could  have  heard  me  !     {Further  emba7'rassment  on  the 
partofVoiciTPLL.)    And  several  other  dear,  kind  gentle- 
men have  been  quite  struck  with  the  pretty  innocence 
of  my  ways.     And  now  to  stand  here  and  be  scorned 
and   inspected   by  everybody  !      {Again   bursts   into 
tears.)       (FiGG  has   been   listening  attentively   to    the 
foregoing  proceedings.      Jawle    has   been 
perfectly   absorbed,    his   large   bland  face 
lifted  upwards,   quite  regardless   of  what 
has  taken  place.) 

The  Lady  Gloire  de  Dijon  enters  at  left  archway. 

Queen  {recovering  from  her  sobs).  It  can't  be  me, 
because  my  conscience  always  accuses  me  when  I've 
done  wrong,  and  my  conscience  don't  accuse  me  a 
bit.  It's  a  case  of  mistaken  idemnity — it's  that  Glory 
Deejohn  that's  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Oh,  she  is  a 
real  downright  bad  lot,  that  Glory  Deejohn  is  !  If  I 
was  to  tell  you  all  — 

Palsam  {encoui-agingly) .     Go  on  !  go  on  ! 

{The  Lady  Gloire  de  Dijon  rims  down  to 
the  side  of  Palsam.) 

Lady  Gloire  {bursting  in) .     Ask  her  to  tell  you  all 


ACT  II  THE   CRUSADERS  6 


J 


about  'erself !     Why,  on'y  last  Sunday  evening  as  ever 
was  — 

Queen  {very  quickly).  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  Glory  Dee- 
john,  how  can  you  stand  there  and  tell  such  wicked 
falsehoods,  and  not  be  afraid  as  something'll  happen 
to  you  !  Oh  !  {appealing  to  Portal)  .  On'y  fancy, 
good  gentleman,  on  Sunday  evening,  after  listening 
to  them  lovely  words  as  flowed  from  your  lips  — 
(Portal  again  shows  embarrassment.)  Oh  !  I  blush 
for  you.  Glory  Deejohn  !  —  I  blush  for  you  ! 

Lady  Gloire.  Blush  for  yourself!  {rushing  at 
Queen.) 

Palsam  {authoritatively) .     Silence  ! 

(Lady  Gloire  and  Queen  both  make  motions 
as  if  about  to  speak.) 
Palsam.     Silence  !     We  all  wish  to   learn    (Lord 
Burnham   takes   out  his   ivatch)    about   last   Sunday 
evening. 

Lord  Burnham  {stepping  forward).  Excuse  me, 
I  don't.  I've  only  ten  minutes  to  catch  my  train 
back  to  town. 

(Lady  Gloire  comes  down  to  front  of  seaty 
and  an  angry  dispute  in  dumb  show  takes 
place  between  her  and  the  Queen.) 
Palsam.     But,  my  lord,  it's  most  important ! 
Lord  Burnham.     Thank  you ;    I  think  I  can  dis- 
pense with  knowing  what  happened  on  Sunday  even- 
ing. (Palsam,  rather  S7mbbed,  goes  to  Queen  and 
Lady  Gloire,  who  are  quarrelling.') 


64  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Lord  Burnham  {takes  an  envelope  out  of  pocket^. 
Mrs.  Greenslade.  (Cynthia  comes  to  hijn.)  I've 
scribbled  a  few  lines  to  Mr.  Ingarfield.  Will  you  see 
that  he  has  them  to-night  ? 

Cynthia  {taking  letter,  putting  it  in  pocket).  Yes, 
if  possible. 

Lord  Burnham.     Thank  you. 

Lady  Gloire  {londly).     Ask  Miss  Pattison  else  ! 

Queen.     Well,  ask  Miss  Pattison  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  Dick,  you'll  come  to  the  station 
with  me  ? 

Dick.     Certainly,  sir. 

Lord  Burnham  {goes  to  Portal).  Good  evening, 
Mr.  Portal.  You  have  my  sincere  sympathy  in  your 
efforts  to  preserve  the  respectability  of  Wimbledon. 

Portal.  What  would  you  recommend  should  be 
done  with  these  young  —  a  —  persons  ? 

Lord  Burnham  {glancing  at  the  group  of  Palsam, 
Queen,  ajid  Lady  Gloire).  I  should  leave  them 
entirely  in  Mr.  Palsam's  hands. 

Palsam.  Silence  !  I  will  subject  Miss  Pattison  to 
a  strict  cross-examination.  {Takes  out  watch ^  I 
shall  have  time  to  question  her  before  the  rose-song 
is  sung.     Go  back  to  the  dormitories  —  at  once  ! 

{They  pass  in  front  of  him,  Lady  Gloire 
first.  Queen  turns  roimd  and  curtseys 
elaborately.) 

Queen  {ogling  Portal)  .  The  dear  good  gentleman 
will  stipify  to  my  innocence  ! 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  65 

Portal    (very  embarrassed) .      Really  —  I   wasn't 
there  !       (Exeunt  Queen  and  Lady  Gloire.     Palsam 
follows  them.) 
Palsam  (pushes  them  off) .     Go  away,  you  hussies  ! 

(They  exeunt  quarrelling^ 
Lord  Burnham    (turns   to   Cynthu).     Are   those 
our  model  girls? 
Cynthla.     Yes. 

Lord  Burnham.  I  trust  we  haven't  reformed  the 
others.     Come,  Dick. 

(Exit.     Cynthla  has  offered  hand  to  Dick.) 

Dick.     Pll  say  "Good  night"  on  my  way  back  from 

the  station  (dropping  his  iwice  to  a  low  aside  to  her), 

if  it  must  be  said.     (Looks  at  her  meaningly.     She 

just  glances  at  him  and  conies  doivn  to  seat.) 

(Exit  Dick.) 
(Pause.     Lights   in   window   left.      Portal 
goes  towards  Cynthia.     Figg  afid  Jawle 
have  been  watching.     Jawle  suddetily  emits 
his  gurgling,  melancholy  chuckle.) 
Cynthia  (rather  sharply) .     What's  the  matter,  Mr. 
Jawle  ? 

Jawle  (elated  in  his  melancholy  way).  I  cannot 
refrain  from  a  smile  when  human  nature  illustrates  my 
theories. 

Portal    (rather  embarrassed,    to    Cynthia).     I'm 
sure  you  will  see  that  a  residential  neighbourhood  hke 
Wimbledon  is  scarcely  the  place  for  rose-farmers. 
Cynthia.     But  where  can  I  take  them  ? 


66  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Portal.  I  should  say  there  are  remote  country 
parishes  where  they  would  be  quite  —  quite  a  wel- 
come addition  to  the  population.  I'll  call  for  your 
decision  next  Wednesday,  before  the  meeting.  In 
the  meantime,  good  evening  !  {Exit  at  back.) 

(Jawle  emits  another  melancholy  chuckle?) 

FiGG  {^coming  to  Cynthia).  Oh,  by  the  way,  I've 
persuaded  Jawle  to  accept  that  other  two  hundred 
pounds  to  publish  the  last  volume  of  his  philosophy 
—  I  was  careful  not  to  hurt  his  feelings. 

Cynthia.     I'm  glad  of  that ! 

(Jawle  chuckles  again?) 

Cynthia  {shows  ajinoyance).  You  seem  pleased 
that  the  rose-farm  is  discredited. 

Jawle  {solemnly).  'My  dear  lady,  if  people  will 
act  in  direct  contravention  of  those  great  principles 
laid  down  in  my  philosophy,  what  can  they  expect 
but  discomfiture  and  failure  ? 

Worrell  enters  door  at  back  with  Figg's  and  Jawle's 
hats  and  overroats  ;  cotnes  down  and  puts  them  on 
during  following  scene. 

Cynthia.  But  what  can  be  done  with  these  poor 
girls  ? 

Jawle  {rises  and  majestically  waddles  towards  her). 
Nothing  can  be  done  !  Charity  is  merely  a  form  of 
refined  selfishness.  You  see  distress  ;  you  are  pained  ; 
to  relieve  your  pain  you  scatter  benefits  broadcast. 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  67 

which  corrupt  both  the  giver  and  the  receiver.  {Looks 
round,  fidgets.)  This  night  air  is  noxious,  and  my 
vital  processes  are  so  slow  !  {^A  little  shiver;  beckons 
Worrell.) 

(Worrell  hats  and  coats  Jawle.) 

FiGG  {to  Cynthia).  You  must  let  me  bring  my 
new  poet  to  you.  I  call  him  my  poet,  because  I  dis- 
covered him. 

Cynthl\.     Oh,  did  you  ? 

FiGG.  Yes ;  quite  by  accident,  in  a  little  street  off 
the  Harrow  Road.  He's  a  superb  genius  !  His 
name's  Radbone. 

Cynthm..     Radbone  ? 

FiGG.  Yes;  he's  the  sternest  pessimist  —  sterner 
even  than  Jawle.  Nobody  has  seized  the  inner 
core  of  the  Harrow  Road  and  Paddington  like  Rad- 
bone. 

Cynthia.     Oh  !     I  don't  know  him. 

FiGG.  No ;  the  herd  —  I  do  not  use  the  word  in 
an  offensive  sense  —  the  herd  do  not  know  Radbone. 
But  they  shall.  I  am  organising  a  Radbone  Society. 
You'll  expect  us  here  to  breakfast  ? 

{Exit  Worrell,  having  fijiished  with  Jawle.) 

Cynthia.     Oh,  yes,  yes  ! 

Jawle.     To  breakfast? 

Cynthia.     Yes. 

Jawle  {7nysteriously,  as  if  pondering) .  Um  —  {a 
long  grunt).     To  breakfast? 

Cynthia.     You'll  come,  of  course  ! 


68  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

]a'wjje  {7nystcriouslv).  Possibly,  possibly  !  (^Wad- 
dles off  slowly  light,  jealously  looking  at  Figg.)  Rad- 
bone  !  (FiGO^^^i"  after  htm.) 

Cynthia  {following  them  up) .  Surely  he  does  not 
intend  — 

Figg  {hurriedly) .  I  trust  not !  I  think  not !  If  I 
should  observe  anything,  I'll  let  you  know.  Good 
night !  {Exit  huniedly  after  Jawle  right.) 

Cynthia  {watches  them  off).  How  could  I  have 
been  so  foolish  as  to  ask  them  here  ! 

Enter  Worrell  at  back.     Una  appea7's  at  door. 

Worrell.     Miss  Dell ! 

Cynthia.  I'll  come  !  {Seeing  Una.)  No  ;  I'll  see 
Miss  Dell  here. 

(Una  comes  doivn  stage.) 

Cynthia  {gives  hand,  which  Una  takes  after  a  slight 
hesitation) .     You  received  my  letter,  then  ? 

Una.     Yes.     What  do  you  want  with  me  ? 

Cynthia.     Where  is  Mr.  Ingarfield? 

Una.     His  address  is  secret. 

Cynthia.     From  me? 

Una.  From  everybody,  till  he  knows  whether  the 
Government  will  give  him  up. 

Cynthia.     But  I  wish  to  help  him. 

Una.     Aren't  you  rather  late  ? 

Cynthia  {turns  away,  ashamed).     Late? 

Una.     The  moment  he  reached  England  he  wrote 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  69 

to  you  he  was  coming  to  you.  He  has  called  at  your 
house  in  London  each  evening,  and  the  only  answer 
has  been,  ''  Mrs.  Greenslade  is  away  from  home,  but 
all  letters  will  be  forwarded." 

Cynthia  {comes  down  a  few  steps,  hangs  her  head, 
speaks  in  a  low,  ashamed  voice) .  What  does  he  think 
of  me? 

Una.  He  thinks  you  are  a  model  of  constancy  and 
devotion. 

Cynthia  (very  angrily,  coming  towards  her) .  Don't 
jeer  at  me  ! 

Una.  I'm  not  jeering  !  You  asked  me  what  he 
thought  of  you.     I've  told  you. 

Cynthia.     He  does  not  know  —  or  suspect  — 

Una.  Suspect  you  ?  He  thinks  you  are  away  trav- 
elling—  abroad,  perhaps  —  and  every  time  you  are 
denied  to  him,  he  says,  "How  she  will  grieve  when 
she  knows  ! " 

Cynthia.     Poor  fellow  !     You  have  not  told  him  — 

Una.  Why  should  I  tell  him?  He'll  learn  soon 
enough  that —     {Stops.) 

Cynthia.     That  what? 

Una.  That  fifteen  months  is  long  for  a  woman's 
devotion  to  last ! 

Cynthia.  Why  do  you  taunt  me?  I'm  doing  all 
I  can  for  his  safety.  Only  to-night  I  have  offered 
Lord  Burnham  everything  —  all  the  Greenslade  be- 
quest —  if  the  Government  will  not  give  him  up. 

Una.     What  does  Lord  Burnham  say? 


70  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Cynthia.  He  wishes  to  see  Mr.  Ingarfield  at  once. 
Here  is  a  letter.  {Producing  letter.)  Will  you  give 
it  to  Mr.  Ingarfield  ? 

\}^^K  {taking  letter).     Yes. 

Cynthia.     To-night  ? 

Una.     Yes. 

Cynthia.     He  is  in  London? 

Una.  No,  not  in  London ;  but  I'll  take  it  to  him. 
Good  night !     {Going  up  stage.) 

Cynthia.     Good  night !     {Suddenly.)     Stay ! 

Una  {coining  down).     What  is  it? 

Cynthia  {pacing  backwai'ds  and  forwards,  un- 
decided). No  —  I  cannot  —  and  yet  he  must  know. 
Will  you  take  a  message  to  him  from  me  ? 

Una  {comes  down  to  Cynthia)  .     Go  on  ! 

Cynthia  {kindly).  You  are  his  friend,  his  sister. 
He  told  me  so. 

Una  {in  the  calmest,  most  indifferent  tone).  Yes; 
he  was  my  father's  friend,  and  I  saw  a  great  deal  of 
him  some  years  ago ;  and  we  love  the  same  strange 
truths  that  nobody  else  believes  in. 

Cynthia.     How  is  he?     He's  not  ill? 

Una.  No  —  not  ill ;  worn  and  exhausted  after  all 
he  has  gone  through,  but  strong  with  hope  and  cour- 
age, and  {very  softly)  love  for  you  ! 

Cynthia  {cries  out).  Oh,  how  will  he  bear  to  know 
that  —  that  I  have  changed  !  {Sits  on  seat ;  buries 
her  face  in  her  hands ^ 

Una    {approaches    her,    puts    the    questioft    very 


ACT  II  THE   CRUSADERS  71 

quietly,  but  with  intense  interest^.  Changed?  Have 
you  changed  so  that  you  can  never  love  him 
again  ? 

Cynthia.  I  cannot  help  it !  I  did  love  him  truly 
and  faithfully — at  least,  I  thought  I  did;  but  month 
after  month  I've  found  myself  caring  less  and  less  for 
him  !  I  would  love  him  if  could,  but  my  heart  will 
not  be  driven  —  tell  him  so.  Oh,  I've  begun  to  write 
to  him  dozens  of  times,  but  I've  been  too  cowardly ; 
and  when  I  heard  last  week  he  had  come  back  to 
England,  I  ran  away  because  I  was  afraid  to  meet 
him  and  tell  him  my  love  was  dead  ! 

Una  {same  outwardly  calm,  indifferent  tone) .  And 
you  wish  me  to  break  the  news  to  him  ? 

Cynthia.  I  wish  to  save  him  pain.  The  blow  will 
be  kinder  from  a  friend's  hand  than  mine. 

Una.  Very  well !  I'm  his  friend.  I'll  send  the 
dagger  into  his  heart. 

Cynthia  {rising  angrily,  crosses  to  centre).  Don't 
speak  to  me  like  that !  Don't  you  see  how  wretched 
I  am  ?  Send  him  to  me  !  I'll  wait  here  for  him,  and 
tell  him  the  truth  myself !  (  Walking  angrily  back- 
wards and  forwards.) 

Una.  No.  You  are  right.  It  will  be  softer  to 
come  from  me. 

Cynthia.     You'll  be  very  gentle  with  him  ? 

Una.     Oh  yes  ;  I'll  kill  him  kindly. 

Cynthia.  Why  can't  you  spare  me?  You  make 
me  feel  as  if  I  were  murdering  him  !     I  would  love 


72  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

him  if  I  could.  Tell  him  so,  and  tell  him  that  all 
I  have  in  the  world  is  freely  his. 

Una.     All  you  have  in  the  world  is  freely  his. 

Cynthia.     Except  my  heart. 

Una.     Except  your  heart. 

Cynthia.  Come  to-morrow,  and  let  me  know  how 
he  bears  it. 

Una.  I  will.  Which  is  the  nearest  way  to  the 
station  ? 

Cynthia.  I'll  send  one  of  the  servants.  {Going 
towards  cottage,  cejttre.^ 

Una.  No.  Nobody  will  harm  me.  The  nearest 
way? 

Cynthia  {pointing  off  left).  That  way  takes  you 
into  the  footpath. 

Una  {going  off  down  stage  left,  ciu'tly) .  Thank  you. 
Good  night ! 

Cynthia  {comes  down  to  her  very  tenderly  and 
kittdly).  Oh,  don't  let  him  think  me  heartless  and 
unkind  —  indeed  I'm  not —  {Suddenly) .     Kiss  me  ! 

Una.  Kiss  you?  Do  you  think  I  want  to  teach 
my  lips  the  trick  of  breaking  faith  ? 

Cynthia  {furious).  How  dare  you?  how  dare 
you? 

Una  {laughs).  Dare?  I'm  going  to  break  his 
heart  with  your  message.  Dare  ?  {Laughs.  Is  going.) 
(Cynthia,  maddened,  takes  her  by  the  shoul- 
der.    Una  turns,  faces  Cynthia.) 

Cynthia.     You  love  him  ! 


ACT  II  THE   CRUSADERS  73 

Una  inclose  to  Cynthia,  looking  straight  at  her). 
Yes,  I  love  him  !  {Exit  down  stage,  left.) 

(Cynthla,  maddened,  walks  up  and  down  the 
stage,  and  then  tJwows  he 7's elf  into  a  seat.) 
{The  moon  is  rising.) 

Dick  enters  behi7id  her  at  the  rose-arch  ;    comes  up 

to  her. 

Dick.     Cynthia ! 

Cynthia.     Leave  me  !     I  hate  you  ! 

Dick  {following  her) .     Hate  me  ? 

Cynthia  {pacing  backwards  and  forwards) .  Yes ; 
you've  made  me  break  my  word  and  despise  myself. 

Dick.     I'd  break  my  word  a  thousand  times  for  you. 

Cynthia  {still  pacing.  Contemptuously).  Would 
you? 

Dick.     I'd  sell  myself  body  and  soul  for  you  ! 

Cynthia  {contemptuously) .     Would  you  ? 

Dick.     Upon  my  honour  I  would  ! 

Cynthia  {stops.  Same  contemptuous  tone) .  Would 
you  sell  your  honour  too  ? 

Dick  {comes  down  to  her ;  tries  to  put  his  arms 
round  he?-) .     Yes,  my  honour  too  ! 

Cynthia  {contemptuous  laugh  ;  gets  away  fro  jn  hifn). 
Your  honour  ?     Would  you  ? 

Dick  {coming  to  he?').  Don't  trifle  with  me  any 
longer,  Cynthia.  See  what  a  fool  you  make  of  me  ! 
I  don't  care  how  long  I  dance  after  you  —  if  you  only 
love  me  at  last. 


74  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Cynthia.  Then  let  it  be  at  last !  I  don't  think 
I've  yet  sunk  low  enough.  Good  night!  (^Getting 
away  from  him  up  stage.') 

Dick  {goes  round  the  other  way  and  intercepts  her. 
Passionately') .  I  can't  say  it !  If  I  leave  you  to-night, 
I  shall  only  come  back  to-morrow  loving  you  more 
madly  than  ever.  I  won't  leave  you  till  you  say 
"  Yes."  (Cynthia  is  going  into  cottage.  Dick  in- 
tercepts her,  and  gets  her  a  little  way  down 
the  stage.) 
Cynthia,  we  were  made  for  one  another. 

Cynthia.  Yes,  I  think  we  were.  We're  just  on 
each  other's  level. 

Dick.     What  do  you  mean? 

Cynthia.  I'm  weak  and  vain  and  frivolous  —  I 
can't  be  faithful  for  five  minutes.  There's  no  truth 
in  me.     Do  you  love  me  ? 

Dick.     Yes. 

Cynthia.  I  hate  and  despise  myself,  and  I  hate 
and  despise  you  !     Do  you  love  me  ? 

Dick.     Yes. 

Cynthia.  I  don't  love  you  —  I  don't  admire  you 
—  I  don't  respect  you  !  Do  you  love  me  ?  (  Comes 
down  stage.) 

Dick  {coming  to  he?-).     Yes,  with  all  my  heart. 

Cynthia  {with  a  loud,  contemptuous  laugh) .  Oh, 
you  were  right !  We  were  made  for  one  another. 
(  Coining  down  in  front.) 

Dick  {folloiving  her,  clasping  het^.     To-night? 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  75 

Cynthia  {looks  at  him  suddenly).     Hush!     I  heard 
something  !     (^Listens.)   Yes,  some  one's  coming.   Go  ! 
Dick.     Not  till  you  say  "  Yes." 
Cynthia  {listening) .     There's  some  one  coming  ! 
Dick.     Say  *'Yes."    {^IVhispers.)     You  may  as  well 
say  it  now;  you'll  say  it  some  time.     Give  me  that 
rose.         (Cynthia  breaks  away  from  Dick,  looks  at 
hij?i  desperately,  then   dashes  the  rose  at 
his  feet. ) 
Dick  {picks  it  up) .     At  your  window  —  soon  ? 

(Cynthia  watches  him  off^ 

Philos  enters  at  rose-arch,  slowly,  cautiously,  looking 
round.  He  is  worn  and  rather  aged  since  last  act, 
with  traces  of  hardship  and  suffering.  Cynthia, 
looking  off  after  Dick,  tu)'ns  and  sees  Philos.  She 
stands  still.  He  watches  her  with  intense  devotion, 
coming  towards  her.    She  comes  down  in  f-ont  of  seat. 

Philos  {coming  towards  her,  utters  a  cry  of  satis- 
faction). Ah!  my  dearest!  {Looks  at  her  full  of 
devotion ;  tinnbles  at  her  feet.)  Oh  !  how  I  have 
longed  for  this  moment  !  {Presses  the  folds  of  her 
dress  to  his  lips.)  {A  long  pause.) 

Cynthia.     You've  not  met  Una  Dell  ? 

Philos.  No.  I've  been  watching  for  her  to  come 
back  with  your  message.  What  does  it  matter?  She 
could  but  have  brought  you  to  me  —  I  have  found  the 
way  to  you  alone. 

Cynthlv  {aside) .     He  does  not  know. 


76  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

Philos.  Oh,  I'm  starved  and  parched  for  lack  of 
you  !  I'm  sick  with  hunger  for  the  sight  of  you  ! 
Speak  to  me,  Cynthia  !  speak  to  me  ! 

Cynthia.     What  can  I  say? 

Philos  {rises  frojjt  ground).  Tell  me  what  I 
know,  that  you  have  counted  the  moments  of  my 
absence  ;  that  every  moment  has  been  a  year  !  Oh, 
I  cannot  say  what  I  would !  I'm  in  a  dream ! 
{Rising;  she  turns  away  fro?n  him.)  Let  me  look  at 
you  !  It  is  you  !  It  is  the  one  dear  form  that  has 
been  with  me  all  the  year  through.  You  have  never 
left  me  !  You  made  that  place  bright  and  sacred  to 
me  !  Oh,  my  heart  has  been  breaking  a  hundred 
times,  but  you  gave  me  courage,  you  gave  me  life  — 
I  shall  never  die  while  you  love  me  ! 

{The girls^  voices  singing  the  rose-song  heard 
in  the  distance.) 

Cynthla.  {aside) .     I  cannot  tell  him. 

Philos.  Ah !  Hark !  The  rose-song !  All  the 
old  times  come  back  !  It's  the  past  year  that's  a 
dream.  My  fear,  my  sufferings,  my  despair,  are  all 
gone  !  It's  you,  it's  this  moment,  that  are  real !  You 
are  with  me,  my  bride  !  Give  me  that  kiss  you 
promised  me  ! 

Cynthla  {suddenly) .  Hark  !  I  have  visitors  here  ! 
You  have  taken  me  by  surprise  —  don't  think  me  cruel 
or  unkind  —  I  can't  yet  realise  that  you  are  here.  I 
have  begged  Lord  Burnham  not  to  send  you  back  to 
that  dreadful  country. 


ACT  II  THE  CRUSADERS  77 

Philos.  You  have  interceded  for  me?  Don't 
fear  !  They  will  not  dare  to  touch  me.  The  country 
is  with  me. 

Cynthia.  Una  Dell  has  a  letter  for  you.  You  are 
to  meet  Lord  Burnham  here  at  eleven  to-morrow 
morning. 

Philos.     At  eleven  to-morrow  ! 

Cynthia.  Don't  stay  !  I  want  to  think.  You  must 
give  me  time  to  think  —  I  don't  know  what  Pm  saying 
—  you  mustn't  stay  now  —  good  night !  (Pointing 
him  off.)     You'll  do  as  I  wish? 

Philos.  Your  least  word  is  enough.  Good  night ! 
{Raises  her  hand  to  his  lips.)     To-morrow  ! 

Cynthia.     Yes,  to-morrow. 

Philos  (comes  to  her  beseechingly).  It  is  a  hundred 
years. 

Cynthia  {with  a  forced  smile) .  It  will  be  soon 
enough  !  (Aside,  sadly,  as  he  twns  away.)  It  will 
be  soon  enough  !  (Exit  Philos  left^ 

Cynthia  (alone).  What  have  I  done?  what  have 
I  done ?  (Exit  into  cottage  door  at  back.) 

(Rather  long  paicse.     Light  seen  ift  balcony 

window  7'ight.) 
(  Clock  in  distafice  strikes  eleven.     Pause.) 

Re-enter  Philos  doivji  stage  left;  creeps  to  seat,  looking 
at  balcony  window. 

Philos  (standing  in  front  of  seat).  She  is  there  ! 
(Looking  up  at  balcoiiy  window^     Her  room  !   her 

'^^^^ 
ITNIVERSITY 


78  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

light !  Oh,  I  cannot  leave  you  !  And  you  were  with 
me  just  now  !  Here  you  stood  and  breathed  this 
air  !  Oh,  if  time  would  stand  still,  and  make  one 
moment  of  our  meeting  eternal !  To-morrow  !  to- 
morrow ! 

Re-enter  Dick  from  archway ^  cautiously. 
(Philos  crouches  i?t  arm  of  seat,  watching^ 

Dick.  All  safe  and  quiet !  I've  played  a  waiting 
game,  and  I've  won.  {Goi7tg  tip  the  steps.)  I  de- 
serve my  luck  ! 

Philos  {watches) .     That  man  ! 

Dick  {taps  at  balcony) .     Cynthia  ! 

Philos  (^j-/^<?).     Cynthia! 

T>iCYL  {tappifzg touder) .     Cynthia!  Cynthia! 

Cynthia  {ope?ts  the  window  a  little).  Leave  me  ! 
Go  !     {Trying  to  shut  the  7vindow.) 

Dick  {trying  to  force  his  way  in) .  But  you  prom- 
ised— 

Cynthia.  Not  now  !  not  now  !  Do  you  hear  ? 
Not  now  1 

Dick,     Why  not  ? 

Cynthia.     Mr.  Ingarfield  has  been  here  — 

Dick.     Ingarfield!     He's  nothing  to  you  — 

Cynthia.     He  loves  me  ! 

Dick.     Poor  fool ! 

Cynthia.  Yes,  poor  fool !  I  want  to  be  alone,  to 
think.  Do  you  hear  ?  Good  night !  Go !  {Shuts 
window  in  his  face.) 


ACT  II  THE   CRUSADERS  79 

Dick  {trying  at  window) .     Cynthia  !     (  Trying  win- 
dow.)    Fastened  !     Cynthia  ! 

Re-enter  Palsam  at  archway.      Goes   to  cottage  door 
left,  unobserved. 

Dick   {desperately).     Do   you   hear?     Let  me  in! 
{Tapping,  t?jing  window ;  Palsam  a7id  Philos  ivatch- 
ingy  unseen  by  each  other.)     You  promised  !     {Forces 
window  open,  and  enters.)     I  will  come  in  ! 
Philos.     Oh  1 

Palsam   {whispers) .     Who  was   it  ?     Mrs.    Blake  ! 
Mrs.  Blake  !     ( Taps  door  very  gently^ 

(Philos  rises,  goes  071  balcony  steps,  with  a 
gesture  of  despair  turns  away,  comes  down 
left.) 
(Palsam  goes  to  door  of  Mrs.  Campion- 
Blake's  cottage,  taps,  sees  Ingarfield 
coming  from  balcony^ 
Philos  {looks  up  to  balcofiy) .     Poor  fool ! 

{Exit  down  stage  left.) 
(Palsam    co7?ies    down    stage,  looking  after 
Ingarfield,  a7id  i7i  a  su7p7ised  to7te  ex- 
clai77is :) 

Palsam.     Mr.  Ingarfield  ! 

{Exit  after  Ingarfield.) 

Dick  {re-enters  upon  balco7iy).     Damn  that  fellow 
Ingarfield  ! 


8o  THE  CRUSADERS  act  ii 

(Cynthia  appears  at  door  of  cottage  at  back^ 
looks  round  cautiously  to  see  that  all  is 
safe,   then   flies   over   to   Mrs.    Campion- 
Blake's  door,   battel's  at  it  with  all  her 
might  for  some  seconds?) 
Cynthia   {hysterically).     Let  me  in  !    let  me  in  ! 
I'm  frightened  !     I  —  oh  !  let  me  in  !    Quick  !  quick  ! 
Ah  !     ( The  door  opens  ;   Cynthia,  fainting,  hysteric, 
tumbles  in  ;  the  door  closes^ 

Curtain. 

{One  night  passes  between  Acts  II.  and  III ^ 


ACT   III 

Scene  —  Morning  Room  in  the  Rose  Cottage. 
E7iter  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  fro7n  door  at  back. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {speaking  as  she  enters^ .  Hush,  sir  ! 
hush  ! 

'      Palsam  enters. 

You  don't  wish  all  the  servants  to  hear,  I  suppose  ? 

Palsam  {stern,  self-important,  very  business-like, 
goes  to  seat  and  sits  doivn  ;  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  fol- 
lotvs  him  dow?i) .     Why  not  ?     It's  the  truth  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.     It's  not  the  truth  ! 

Palsam.  Mr.  Ingarfield  did  not  deny  it.  Mrs. 
Greenslade  does  not  deny  it. 

Mrs.  Cam.     She's  too  indignant ! 

Palsam  {^shakes  his  head,  smites  malignantly).  I 
know  the  signs  of  guilt  !  I've  had  too  much  ex- 
perience ! 

G  8i 


82  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Dick  enters. 

Dick.     What's  the  matter? 

Palsam.  Sir,  a  very  terrible  scandal  has  occurred, 
which  I  shall  be  compelled  to  make  public. 

Dick.     You  don't  say  so  ? 

Palsam.  Yes.  Last  night,  after ,  endeavouring  for 
nearly  an  hour  to  get  at  the  truth  from  Miss  Pattison 
about  the  rose-farmers,  I  was  obhged  to  leave ;  and 
happening  to  cross  the  lawn  outside  — 

Dick  {f-ather  alarmed).     You  came  by  here? 

Palsam.     I  did. 

(Mrs.  Campion-Blake  is  pacing  backwards 
and  forwards  in  a  distressed  way.) 

Dick  (^ha If  puzzled,  half  alarmed).  What  did  you 
see? 

Palsam.  Enough  to  convince  me  that  the  man 
who  has  placed  himself  at  our  head  for  the  reforma- 
tion of  London  is  a  character  of  the  worst  possible 
type. 

Dick  {astonished).     My  father? 

Palsam.  No  ;  I  do  not  accuse  your  father  at  pres- 
ent.    I  mean  Mr.  Ingarfield. 

DiQK  {puzzled) .     Ingarfield! 

Palsam.  A  hypocrite  and  a  scoundrel !  I  saw  him 
entering  a  window  of  this  house  last  night  at  an  hour 
when  everybody  ought  to  have  been  asleep. 

Dick.  You  surprise  me  ;  but  —  {puzzled) .  The 
rascal !  the  villain  ! 


ACT  III  THE  CRUSADERS  83 

Palsam.  I  shall  expose  him  !  I  shall  expose  the 
lady  too  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  Indeed  you  shall  not !  Mrs.  Green- 
slade  was  not  — 

Dick  {at  the  mention  of  Mrs.  Greenslade's  naiiie^ 
quickly).  Mrs.  Greenslade's  name  must  not  be  men- 
tioned in  this  affair. 

Palsam.     Oh  yes,  it  must ! 

Dick  {standing  over  Palsam,  in  a  low,  jinn  tone') . 
There  will  be  a  horse-whipping  for  the  man  who  does 
mention  it ! 

Palsam  (/;?  a  quiet,  determined  voice) .  I  shall  not 
be  deterred  by  a  horse-whipping.  I  have  set  myself 
the  inexpressibly  painful  task  of  rooting  out  vice  from 
EngHsh  life,  and  it's  my  duty  to  make  an  example  of 
every  one  whom  I  detect. 

Dick,  {indignantly) .  But  good  Heavens,  sir  !  {Seizes 
him.)  You  shall  not  leave  this  room  till  you  have 
promised  me  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  {coming  between  them) .  Hush  !  Leave 
him  alone  !  Do  you  hear?  {Separates  them.)  You 
won't  stop  his  mouth  that  way. 

Palsam.  No,  nor  any  other  way.  Having  warned 
Mrs.  Greenslade,  I  now  consider  myself  at  liberty  to 
make  the  matter  public.     Good  morning  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {stopping  him).  Listen,  Mr.  Palsam. 
If  I  could  prove  you  are  mistaken  — 

Palsam.     How  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Will  you  promise  not  to  mention  this 
for  an  hour? 


84  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Palsam  intakes  out  his  watch).  It  is  now  half-past 
ten.     I  will  not  mention  it  till  half-past  eleven. 

Mrs.  Cam.  I'm  sure,  when  I've  made  enquiries,  I 
can  bring  you  the  clearest  proof  of  that  lady's  inno- 
cence. 

Palsam  {s77iiling) .  Of  course  I  should  be  only  too 
pleased  to  find  her  innocent,  if  I  could  find  one  or 
more  persons  equally  guilty.  But  I'm  not  at  all  hope- 
ful.    I  have  now  another  painful  duty  to  perform. 

Mrs.  Cam.     What's  that  ? 

Palsam.  To  obtain  the  whole  truth  from  Miss 
Pattison  about  the  rose-farmers.  {At(tho7'itatwely, 
didactically.)  Mind  you,  this  all  comes  from  not 
leaving  matters  in  my  hands.  If  I  were  allowed  to 
do  as  I  please,  I  could  reform  London  in  six  months. 
{Firmly.)     At  half-past  eleven  !  {Exit.) 

(Dick  and  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  watch  him 
off,  then  look  at  each  other ^ 

Mrs.  Cam.  {angrily) .     You  see  what  you've  done  ? 

Dick  {pretending  innocence).     What  I've  done? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Don't  pretend  innocence  !  Mrs.  Green- 
slade  has  told  me  all ! 

Dick.     But  Palsam  saw  Ingarfield  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  Nonsense  !  Palsam  is  short-sighted, 
and  has  somehow  mistaken  you  for  him.  Oh,  I  knew 
there  would  be  some  scandal !  And  —  {Suddenly 
stops,  cries  out  ho7'ror  stricken?) 

Dick.     What's  the  matter  now? 

Mrs.  Cam.     The  Duchess  gives  a  garden  party  next 


ACT  III  THE  CRUSADERS  85 

Friday,  to  meet  the  committee  of  the  London  Refor- 
mation League  ?  And  everybody  is  to  be  there  ! 
(  Transfixed  with  horror,^ 

Dick  {quietly).   By  Jove  !   Everybody  will  be  there  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {enraged).  Something  must  be  done  ! 
Do  you  hear? 

Dick.  Well,  I'll  horsewhip  Palsam  !  It's  my  duty 
as  a  man  of  honour,  and  I'll  do  it ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  That's  no  use  !  It  would  only  spread 
the  scandal  far  and  wide.  {Pacing  desperately^ 
Think  !   think  !     What  can  we  do  ? 

Dick.     Why  not  tell  the  truth  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  The  truth?  That  you  were  seen  out- 
side her  balcony  last  night  ! 

Dick.     No,  not  me  !     Ingarfield  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  You  or  Ingarfield  !  That  doesn't  mat- 
ter !  It's  Mrs.  Greenslade's  reputation  I  must  and 
will  save  at  all  costs.  So  far  as  Ingarfield  is  con- 
cerned, the  story  would  do  very  well.  {Suddenly^ 
It  would  rid  us  of  him.  Very  well ;  Mr.  Palsam  saw 
Mr.  Ingarfield  —  but  it  was  outside  Mrs.  Greenslade's 
balcony  —  how  do  you  account  for  that  ? 

Dick.     I  can't.     It  looks  suspicious  ! 

Mrs.  Cam,  {eiiraged) .  Suspicious  !  Will  you  once 
for  all  realise  the  fearful  mess  we're  in?  Won't  you 
do  something  to  repair  the  mischief  you've  caused  ? 

Dick.  That  I've  caused  !  Let  me  tell  you,  Mrs. 
Blake,  I've  been  used  very  badly  in  this  matter.  If 
Mrs.   Greenslade   had  placed    her  reputation  in   my 


86  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

keeping,  everything  would  have  been  right.  Still,  I'll 
do  all  I  can ;  and  if  you'll  say  what  story  you're  going 
to  tell,  I'll  stick  to  it.  Only  let's  be  careful  about 
details. 

Mrs.  Cam.     But  what  story  can  we  tell  ? 

Dick.  Well,  I'm  not  a  good  hand  at  inventing ;  but 
you  may  rely  on  me  for  any  amount  of  backing  up. 

Mrs.  Cam.     How  can  we  clear  Mrs.  Greenslade  ? 

Dick.     But  she's  really  innocent ! 

Mrs.  Cam.     I  know. 

Dick.     Why  not  prove  it  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  How  can  I  ?  Palsam  will  say  one  thing, 
I  shall  say  another,  and  between  us  Mrs.  Greenslade's 
reputation  will  be  torn  to  rags.  Oh  !  why  don't  you 
suggest  something?    Think  !  think  !  think  ! 

Enter  Victorine. 

Victorine.  Pardon,  madame  !  Madame  will  know 
if  Mr.  Palsam  is  still  here  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  No,  he  has  gone ;  but  he  will  come 
back  at  half-past  eleven.  How  is  Mrs.  Greenslade, 
Victorine  ? 

Victorine.  Madame  is  not  well.  She  has  had 
some  frightens  —  bad  messages.  I  do  not  like  that 
Mr.  Palsam.  Every  time  he  sees  me  he  make  his 
eyes  stop  still  at  me  —  he  not  say  nothing,  but  he  think 
much  —  he  think,  "Oh,  you  are  a  wicked  French 
devil  ! "  {Pause.) 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  87 

Mrs.  Cam.  (/<:?^/^j' ^7/ Victorine.  Suddenly  her  face 
brightens  atid  shows  she  sees  a  way  out  of  her  difficulty. 
She  goes  very  sweetly  to  Victorine,  and  says  in  a  quiet, 
persuasive  tone) .  Victorine,  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
for  a  few  minutes  quite  alone. 

Victorine.     Certainly,  madame. 

Mrs.  Cam.  (same gentle,  sweet, persuasive  manner). 
Now  keep  somewhere  close  here,  and  I'll  come  to 
you  directly. 

Victorine.     Yes,  madame. 

{Exit.     Leaves  door  open.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {to  Dick).  You  stay  somewhere  about 
the  lawn.  Be  ready  to  come  in  and  confirm  my  story, 
if  necessary. 

Dick.     Hadn't  we  better  arrange  the  details  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  {looks  off  at  open  door).  Here's  Mrs. 
Greenslade  !     Leave  all  to  me  ! 

{Exit  Dick.) 

Cynthia  enters. 

Cynthia.     Has  Mr.  Palsam  gone  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Yes ;  but  he's  coming  back.  He's 
determined  to  expose  you. 

Cynthia.     What  can  I  do? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Will  you  trust  everything  to  me ;  I 
believe  I  can  save  you. 

Cynthia.     Am  I  worth  saving? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Do  you  realise  the  awful  position 
you're  in? 


88  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Cynthia.  Yes.  Mr.  Palsam  means  to  spread  a 
horrible  tale  about  me.  Of  course,  I  don't  wish  to 
be  spattered  with  mud.  I  don't  want  people  to  think 
badly  of  me,  and  yet  if  they  knew  the  exact  truth  — 

Mrs.  Cam.  There's  no  such  thing  as  the  exact 
truth.  What  we've  got  to  do  is  to  stop  that  man's 
tongue.  I  think  you  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  me, 
when  I'm  ready  to  go  anywhere,  do  anything,  say 
anything,  and  all  for  your  sake. 

Cynthia.  Oh,  don't  think  me  ungrateful !  Only 
since  last  night  I've  felt  myself  such  a  hypocrite  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.     Hypocrite? 

Cynthia.     Yes  ;  and  I  hate  hypocrites  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  So  do  I.  No  one  hates  hypocrisy 
more  than  I  do.     But  how  are  you  a  hypocrite? 

Cynthia.  I  keep  on  saying  one  thing  and  prac- 
tising another. 

Mrs.  Cam.  That  isn't  hypocrisy.  Everybody  does 
that.  Hypocrisy  is  when  you  know  you're  thoroughly 
bad  at  heart,  and  cloak  it  over  by  pretending  to  be 
very  religious  —  like  Chadband  or  Stiggins.  There's 
really  very  little  hypocrisy  in  England  to-day,  except 
in  the  small  dissenting  sects.  But  come  !  we've  only 
half  an  hour.     Will  you  leave  everything  to  me  ? 

Cynthia.  Shall  you  have  to  say  anything  that's 
not  the  truth  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  I  shall  only  deviate  very  slightly.  And 
surely,  to  save  such  a  reputation  as  yours,  it's  worth 
sacrificing  something  ! 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  89 

Cynthia.  Then  the  better  the  reputation,  the  more 
falsehoods  it's  worth  while  to  tell  to  save  it  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Really,^  Cynthia,  you  are  the  most  ex- 
asperating woman  —  when  I'm  doing  all  I  can  ! 

Cynthia  {I'linnmg  to  he?-  quickly).  No,  no  !  I 
don't  mean  to  be  unkind.  {Kisses  her.)  There  ! 
I'll  leave  it  all  in  your  hands. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Very  well  !  I  may  have  to  spend  a 
few  hundreds  — 

Cynthia.     Whatever  is  necessary. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Now  go  and  lie  down,  and  have  a 
headache  all  day ;  and  be  very  indignant  at  Mr. 
Palsam's  accusation. 

Cynthia.  Oh,  that's  my  part,  is  it?  What  a  farce 
it  is  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.     What's  a  farce  ? 

Cynthia.     Life  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.     A  farce? 

Cynthia.  Yes ;  just  to  keep  the  husk  of  reputa- 
tion, and  know  there's  no  grain  there  !  And  that 
man  Ingarfield  last  night  was  not  afraid  of  prison,  or 
hunger,  or  death  !  And  I'm  afraid  of  the  truth ! 
I'm  afraid  of  what  people  will  say  of  me  !  Oh,  I 
am  small !     I  am  contemptible  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  (goes  to  her) .     Cynthia  ! 

Cynthia.  Very  well !  Do  as  you  please  !  I'll  say 
nothing !  {Exit.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  Was  there  ever  such  an  unselfish,  de- 
voted friend  as  I  am  ?  {Exit.) 


90  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Dick  and  Lord  Burnham  enter  at  window  left. 

Lord  Burnham.  You  here !  You've  not  kept 
your  promise  ! 

Dick.  Well,  the  fact  is,  there's  some  scandal 
here  — 

Lord  Burnham  {^quickly) .  Scandal !  Not  about 
you? 

Dick.  Oh,  no  !  It's  about  this  fellow  Ingarfield. 
I  don't  quite  know  the  details  ;  but  there's  going  to  be 
a  devil  of  a  row  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  Is  there  ?  He  was  to  meet  me 
here  at  eleven.  (^Sits,  takes  out  his  watch.)  The 
papers  this  morning  are  full  of  these  confounded  mass 
meetings  ! 

Dick.     What's  the  latest  about  Costa  Rica? 

Lord  Burnham.  We  shall  have  to  pay  for  the 
revolution.  We're  in  to  the  tune  of  four  millions ; 
only  as  it  was  all  part  of  this  confounded  London 
Reformation  scheme  of  Ingarfield's,  it's  only  fair  that 
Greenslade's  million  and  a  half  should  go  towards  it. 

Dick.     And  the  other  two  millions  and  a  half? 

Lord  Burnham  {putling  a  long  face).  Twopence 
on  the  income  tax. 

Dick.     And  the  "  ne'er-do-wells  "  ? 

Lord  Burnham.     Bring  them  back  to  London. 

Dick.     And  the  Government? 

Lord  Burnham.  Out  we  go  !  The  ungrateful 
rascals  !     Take  them  threepence  off  the  income  tax. 


ACT  III  THE  CRUSADERS  91 

they  don't  say  "Thank  you."     Put  a  penny  on,  and 
they  kick  you  out. 

Mrs.  Campion-Blake  enters  right,  evidently  in  very 
good  spirits. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Ah  !  Good  morning,  Lord  Burnham  ! 
{^Shaking  hands.)  Who  would  have  supposed  this 
about  Mr.  Ingarfield?  (Dick  listens  carefully^ 

Lord  Burnham.     What? 

Mrs.  Cam.  It  seems  he's  quite  a  Lothario,  a  Don 
Juan  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     Nonsense  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  Fact !  And  who  do  you  think  is  one 
of  his  latest  victims  ?  {Looks  round  at  Dick  ;  ex- 
changes a  glance  of  intelligence.)  Mrs.  Greenslade's 
French  maid,  Victorine  ! 

Lord  Burnham  {very  much  astonished) .  You  don't 
say  so? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Yes  ;  the  girl  doesn't  deny  it ;  in  fact, 
she's  just  made  a  full  confession  to  me. 

(Lord  Burnham  looks  fro?n  one  to  the  other 
incredulously.) 

Dick.  Oh,  there's  no  doubt  about  it  —  unfor- 
tunately ! 

Lord  Burnham.  But  we're  all  on  his  committee 
for  reforming  London  —  and  I'm  the  President ! 
{Begins  to  laugh,  sees  the  joke  of  it  more  and  7nore, 
looks  from  one  to  the  other.) 


92  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Mrs.  Cam.  It's  no  laughing  matter,  Lord  Burn- 
ham  !  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Palsam  has  discovered 
everything. 

Lord  Burnham.  Palsam  has  discovered  —  (jRoars 
with  laiighfer.)  Palsam  has  discovered  —  {Another 
roar.)     By  Jove  !  there  will  be  a  devil  of  a  row  ! 

Dick  {venturing,  looking  to  Mrs.  Campion-Blake 
for  approval  as  he  goes  along).  Yes.  Palsam  hap- 
pened to  be  passing  outside  at  the  very  moment,  and 
saw  Romeo  Ingarfield  scaling  JuHet  Victorine's  balcony. 

Lord  Burnham  {exploding ivith  laughter).  Romeo 
Ingarfield  —  Juliet  Victorine  —  {Another  roar  of  laugh- 
ter;  recovers  himself,  pulls  himself  together  very  sol- 
emnly, then  moralises  in  a  severe  vein.)  Now,  all  this 
arises  from  the  folly  and  nonsense  of  trying  to  reform 
London. 

Dick  {cordially).  That's  just  what  I  said  all  along. 
London  don't  want  any  reforming.  {Suddenly  starts 
up,  very  excited,  very  elated ;  rises,  and  cojnes  to  Lord 
Burnham.)     By  Jove  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     What  is  it  ? 

Dick.  The  indignation  meetings  against  the  Gov- 
ernment !  Ingarfield's  political  friends  !  They'll  cut 
him  dead  !  It  doesn't  matter  how  many  revolutions 
he  causes,  they'll  stick  to  him  like  leeches  ;  but  they'll 
drop  him  like  a  hot  potato  if  he's  been  within  fifty 
miles  of  a  French  maid  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  To  be  sure  !  Very  lucky  for  us  ! 
Well,  there's  some  good,  after  all,  in  Balsam's  system  of 


ACT  III  THE  CRUSADERS  93 

suspecting  everybody,  for  he's  discovered  a  thorough- 
going hypocrite  at  last !     Bravo,  Palsam  ! 

{Exit  at  window.^ 

FiGG  enters  breathlessly  at  back. 

FiGG.  Mrs.  Blake,  has  Jawle  been  in  to  break- 
fast? 

Mrs.  Cam.     No;  why? 

FiGG.  Then  the  great  deed  is  done  !  Jawle  has 
set  the  seal  on  his  philosophy  in  the  large  pond  at  the 
end  of  the  grounds  ! 

Dick.     He  can't  have  been  such  a  fool ! 

FiGG.  Fool !  It  was  the  only  solution  of  the  Hfe- 
problem  that  continually  pressed  upon  him. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Do  you  really  mean  that  he  has  drowned 
himself? 

FiGG  {coming  funereally  down) .  I  have  traced  his 
footsteps  to  the  pond.  The  extraordinary  size  and 
shape  of  his  boots  render  their  indentations  in  the 
mud  quite  unmistakable.  If  we  could  fathom  the 
depths  under  the  trees,  I  have  no  doubt  we  should 
there  discover  what,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  was  Jawle  ! 
{Sits  sad  and  dejected  on  sofa,  looks  unutte7'ably 
sad.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {going  to  Figg  very  angrily).  If  any- 
thing has  really  happened,  you  are  quite  as  guilty  as 
he  is  ! 

Figg.  There  is  no  question  of  guilt  !  Jawle's  great 
tragic  contempt  of  human  life  must  not  be  confounded 


94  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

with  a  paltry,  every-day,  newspaper  suicide.    ( IVi^k  a 
smile  of  benevolent  pity.) 

(Mrs.   Campion- Blake  makes  a  movement. 
FiGG  silences  hei-  with  a  gesture.) 
FiGG.     Jawle  has  quitted  this  despicable  sphere  in 
a  manner  worthy  of  himself.     There  is  a  natural  fitness 
about  it ! ,  A  kind  of  a  —  celebration. 

Mrs.  Cam.  (^pacing  up  and  down).  Nonsense ! 
nonsense  !  There's  no  natural  fitness  in  celebrating 
your  coroner's  inquest  in  a  friend's  house,  where  you 
are  only  on  the  merest  visiting  terms. 

FiGG.     Pardon  me  —  you  quite  mistake  the  situa- 
tion !         (Mrs.  Campion- Blake  makes  an  angry,  im- 
patiejit  gesture,  goes  and  throws  herself  in 
a  chair,  sits  there  showing  signs  of  im- 
patience at  Figg's  harangue.) 
FiGG  {rising).    Our  feelings  of  personal  sorrow  must 
be  stifled  in  the  contemplation  of  a  great  national 
event.     In  fact,  I  shall  insist  on  making  it  a  great 
national  event.     I  shall  myself  pronounce  the  funeral 
oration.     The  ordinary  method  of  interment  would  be 
distasteful  to  Jawle. 

Jawle  enters  at  window.     Waddles  down  to  sofa 
behi7id  Figg. 

I  shall  cremate  him  !  ( Catches  sight  of  Jawle.  His 
features  drop  their  expression  of  smug,  complacent, 
affected  sole?n7iity,  and  he  endeavours  to  express  sur- 
prised pleasure,   but  can   hardly   conceal  his   disap- 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  95 

pointment.  Stands  7ionplussed  for  some  motneiits,  then 
ejaculates  a  feeble  ^^  Oh  /"  Pauses,  stares  at  Jawle  iii 
a  sickly,  embarrassed  way.)  I  was  really  afraid  that 
you  had  decided  —  to  —  a  —  a  —  a  — 

Jawle  {majestically).  No;  not  at  present !  {Goes 
to  arm-chair  and  sits.) 

FiGG.     I'm  so  glad  —  so  very  glad  ! 

Jawle.  No.  I  happened  to  fall  in  with  that  hitherto 
terribly  misguided  young  man,  Mr.  Ingarfield  — 

Mrs.  Cam.     Mr.  Ingarfield  ! 

Jawle.  Yes ;  to  my  surprise,  he  has  embraced 
my  doctrine  of  the  absolute  folly  and  depravity  of  the 
human  herd.  And  my  satisfaction  in  securing  such  a 
disciple  has  induced  me  to  postpone  my  intention  of 
drawing  the  curtain  over  this  scene  of  misery  and 
littleness.  {Places  his  hands  on  his  stomach,  and  goes 
into  a  profound  reverie^ 

Mrs.  Cam.  {coming  to  Figg)  .  Mr.  Figg,  Mrs.  Green- 
slade  is  so  dreadfully  ill  this  morning,  will  you  kindly 
excuse  her  entertaining  you  any  longer?  Under  the 
circumstances,  you  won't  mind  —  {Shaking  hands  with 
Figg.) 

Figg.  Not  at  all !  So  sorry  she  is  ill !  We'll  renew 
our  visit  on  the  first  occasion. 

Mrs.  Cam.  Delighted  —  so  sweet  of  you  to  come 
back  —  but  you'll  please  get  Mr.  Jawle  to  set  the  seal 
on  his  philosophy  in  somebody  else's  pond,  not  in 
ours.  ( Very  win?iingly.)  So  pleased  to  have  seen 
you  —  so  very  pleased!  {Shaking  hands.)  Good- 
bye !     {Goes  to  Jawle.)     Good-bye,  Mr.  Jawle  ! 


96  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

(Jawle    is    completely   absorbed ;    fakes   no 

notice,  his  large,  blank  face  blandly  gazing 

into  nothingness.     Suddenly  he  gives  vent 

to  his  peculiar  melancholy  chuckle.^ 

Mrs.  Cam.  {in  a  louder  tone).     Good-bye  !     {Goes 

and  rings  bell.)     Good-bye  !  good-bye  ! 

(Jawle  takes  no  notice.    Figg  looks  at  Jawle 
with  great  admiration.) 
Figg  {^admiringly,  pointing  to  Jawle).    That  curious 
habit  of  burying  himself.     {To  Dick.) 

Dick.  Make  haste  and  cremate  him  !  That'll  cure 
him  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {having  rung  bell,  returns  /^  Jawle,  stands 

over  him  ;  veiy  emphatically).    Good-bye,  Mr.  Jawle  ! 

Jawle  {comes  to  himself  with  an  effort,  looks  round, 

rouses   himself,    rises,  places   his  fat  paw   in    Mrs. 

Campion-Blake's  hand).     Ah  !     {Stands  absorbed.) 

Worrell  enters  at  door  at  back. 

Mrs.  Cam.  I  trust  there  is  no  immediate  danger 
of  —  of —  your  — 

Jawle.  No  ;  {rises)  I  shall  school  myself  to  endure 
the  vast  spectacle  of  human  imbecility,  selfishness,  and 
emptiness  for  some  short  time  longer.  The  word 
"  emptiness  "  reminds  me  I  have  had  no  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {takes  his  hand,  and  gradually  gets  him 
up  stage.  To  Worrell).  Some  breakfast  for  Mr. 
Figg  and  Mr.  Jawle.  {Getting  Jawle  and  Figg  up 
towards  the  door.) 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  97 

Jawle  {tU7iiing  round  plaintively) .  That  cold  veal 
pie  I  had  for  breakfast  yesterday  morning  was  singu- 
larly ill  adapted  to  one  whose  digestive  and  other 
vital  processes  are  as  slow  as  mine. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {getting  Jawle  a7id  Figg  a  little  nearer 
door).     Some  fish,  Worrell ! 

Jawle  {meditatively).  Yes;  and  would  you  think 
me  rude  if  I  suggested  a  little  of  that  really  excellent 
Chambertin?  I  have  noticed  it  disposes  me  to  form 
a  slightly  more  favourable  estimate  of  mundane  con- 
ditions. 

Mrs.  Ca]\i.  {getting  them  a  little  neaj-er  door) .  Some 
of  the  best  Burgundy,  Worrell  !  % 

(Worrell  stands  at  back,  waiting  for  Jawle, 
holding  the  door  open.) 

Jawle  {placing  his  fat  hand  in  Mrs.  Campion- 
Blake's).  Pray,  thank  Mrs.  Greenslade  for  her  kind 
hospitality.  I  trust  I  have  amply  repaid  it  by  show- 
ing her  the  pernicious  folly  of  her  scheme  for  reform- 
ing London,  and  I  —  (  Goes  into  a  profomid  reverie. 
Mrs.  Campion- Blake  looks  despairingly  at  Figg,  mo- 
tions Imn  to  take  Jawle  off.) 

Figg  {prompting  Jawle).     Breakfast ! 

Jawle  {rousing  himself).  Ah  !  {Smiles  seraphi- 
cally.  Goes  off  at  back,  uttering  his  peculiar  melan- 
choly chuckle.  Figg  follows  him.  Mrs.  Campion- 
Blake  gives  a  sigh  of  relief) 

Dick.  Your  version  seems  to  be  getting  on  splen- 
didly.    Can't  you  let  me  have  a  few  more  details  ? 

H 


98  THE   CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Mrs.  Cam.  Victorine  has  consented  to  get  us  out 
of  our  difficulty. 

Dick.     And  Ingarfield? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Ingarfield  must  help  us  too  !  He  surely 
can't  refuse  to  join  us  in  clearing  Mrs.  Greenslade's 
reputation  ! 

Enter  Worrell  at  back  annouiicmg. 
Worrell.     Mr.  Ingarfield  ! 

Enter  Philos  at  back,  wo7'n,  calm,  pale,  broken,  con- 
temptuous, indifferent. 

{Exit  Worrell  at  back) . 

Mrs.  Cam.  {Jiurriedly  to  Philos).  One  moment, 
Mr.  Ingarfield  !  {Draws  him  down  stage.)  You  were 
here  last  night ;  you  have  compromised  a  lady  —  Mr. 
Palsam  is  determined  to  ruin  her  reputation.  Vic- 
torine has  promised  to  take  the  whole  matter  upon 
herself.  To  save  that  lady,  will  you  aid  in  this  de- 
ception ? 

Philos  {looks  at  her;  turns  and  looks  at  Dick,  who 
turns  round.     A  pause).     Yes  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {shows  satisfaction) .  You'll  say  nothing 
till  I've  cleared  Mrs.  Greenslade? 

Philos.     Nothing  !      {Exit  Mrs.  Campion-Blake.) 

Enter  Lord  Burnham.     Comes  down. 

Philos.  You  sent  for  me.  I'm  here.  What  do 
you  want? 


I  UN 

ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  99 

Lord  Burnham.  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  we  have 
arranged  with  the  Costa  Rica  Government  to  com- 
pound their  claims,  and  they  agree  to  release  you 
from  the  consequences  of  your  folly. 

Philos.  My  folly  !  Their  oppression  drove  the 
men  mad  !     Go  on  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  That  arrangement  was  concluded 
by  cable  last  night,  I  am  sorry  to  say. 

Philos  {indiffej-enf/y) .     Sorry  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  If  this  scandal  about  you  had 
leaked  out  first,  we  could  have  snapped  our  fingers  at 
your  political  friends,  and  sent  you  back  to  Costa 
Rica  to  stand  your  trial. 

Philos.  Send  me  back.  {Calmly.)  I  did  not 
escape  for  my  own  sake,  but  only  that  the  truth  might 
be  known,  and  the  innocent  saved  from  suffering  with 
the  guilty.     Send  me  back  !     Anything  further  ? 

Lord  Burnham.  You  agree  to  place  yourself  en- 
tirely in  our  hands? 

Philos  {Indiffei-ently) .     In  yours  —  or  anybody's. 

Lord  Burnham.     I  have  now  to  get  Mrs.  Green- 
slade's  consent.     And  I  trust  this  will  be  a  lesson  to 
you  not  to  meddle  again  with  the  working  arrange-  N 
ments  of  this  very  excellent  planet.  /' 

Philos  {looks  at  him  steadily,  pauses ;  theft  in  the 
same  calm,  i^idifferent  tone).  No  ;  as  the  devil  seems 
to  manage  it  very  well,  I'll  leave  it  in  his  hands  for  the 
future. 

(Lord  Burnham  shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  exit.) 


lOo  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Palsam  enters  at  window. 

Palsam.  Mr.  Ingarfield,  I  have  prepared  a  written 
statement  of  last  night's  unfortunate  affair. 

Philos  {calm,  conversational  tone).  i\re  there 
plenty  of  lies  in  it  ? 

Palsam.     Lies  ? 

Philos.  When  one  lives  in  a  world  of  lies,  lies  are 
the  only  truth ;  and  the  man  who  tells  the  truth  is 
simply  a  fish  who  has  been  fool  enough  to  jump  out 
of  water.  {Goes  up  back,  stands  with  back  to  audi- 
ence during  the  following  scene.) 

Mrs.  Campion- Blake  7'e-enters  with  a  rather  large 
envelope. 

(Palsam  coines  down  stage.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {going  towards  Palsam  cordially) .  Ah  ! 
I  told  you  I  should  be  able  to  get  at  the  truth  ! 

Palsam  {suspiciously).     The  truth? 

Mrs.  Cam.  Read  that  !  (  Gives  him  the  envelope, 
watches  him  closely) . 

Palsam  {pulling  out  paper  from  envelope) .  I  warn 
you  I  am  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by  any  trumped-up 
tale  !  {Looks  suspiciously  at  her,  then  at  Dick,  then 
at  Ingarfield.  Opens  the  paper  with  apparent  sus- 
picion, begins  to  read  it  very  carefully  and  suspiciously. 
Suddenly  drops  his  suspicious  manner.)  Ah  !  I  read 
that  French  maid's  character  the  moment  I  set  eyes 
on  her  ! 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  loi 

Mrs.  Cam.  {sympathisingly  sighs) .  Ah  !  I'm  afraid 
you  were  right ! 

Palsam.  Yes ;  I  have  quite  a  remarkable  gift  of 
judging  people's  character.  Of  all  the  thousands  of 
people  whom  I've  suspected,  I've  never  found  myself 
at  fault !     There's  always  been  something  in  it ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {sighs).  Ah!  {Sympathisingly.)  I 
shouldn't  wonder  ! 

Palsam  {having  considered  letter) .  I  should  like  to 
put  a  few  plain  questions  to  this  young  person. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {qjiickty) .  She  is  perfectly  ready  to  sign 
that  confession  in  your  presence  ;  but  she  refuses  to 
be  questioned  further. 

Palsam.  Ah  !  They  can  none  of  them  bear  to  be 
cross-questioned.     {Returns  to  letter  carefully.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {watching  him  closely).  Of  course  you 
will  apologise  to  the  lady  whom  you  have  wronged 
with  your  unjust  suspicions? 

Palsam  {cordially).  Oh,  yes;  I'll  apologise  most 
heartily  !  I  must  say  it  gives  me  unspeakable  pleasure 
to  find  that  we  may  ascribe  the  whole  of  this  painful 
affair  to  the  low  standard  of  morality  prevailing  among 
the  French.    What  is  to  become  of  this  young  person  ? 

Mrs.  Cam.     She  leaves  for  France  to-night. 

Palsam.  Wouldn't  it  be  advisable  to  keep  her  here, 
and  thoroughly  reform  her  first,  and  theti  send  her 
back  to  reclaim  her  countrymen?  What  a  glorious 
thing  it  would  be  if  we  could  be  the  instruments  of 
reforming  the  French  nation  !     We   must  think  that 


I02  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

over  !     {Turns  half  round  to  Ingarfield.)     Mr.  In- 
garfield,  what  have  you  to  say  to  this  confession  ? 

Philos  {back  to  audience;  does  not  tiwn  rotind). 
Nothing  ! 

Palsam.  Of  course,  you  will  have  no  further  asso- 
ciation with  us  ? 

Philos  {same  attitude).     God  forbid  ! 

Palsam.  This  young  person  will  sign  this  in  my 
presence. 

Mrs.  Cam.  {rising,  going  towards  door).  Yes  — 
this  way.  {Opens  door.  Aside.)  It's  wonderful  how 
little  I've  had  to  deviate  from  the  truth  !        {Exit.) 

Palsam.  I'm  so  glad  that  we  can  still  pride  our- 
selves upon  preserving  our  superior  tone  of  national 
morality !  {Exit.) 

Dick  {to  Philos)  .  My  friend,  you  take  the  advice  of 
a  man  of  the  world  :  Don't  you  try  any  more  of  this 
mending  and  tinkering  society.  You  see  where  it 
lands  you  !  It's  no  good  trying  to  live  up  to  it  —  you 
can't  —  and  then  you  only  find  out  what  a  fool  you've 
been  to  pretend  to  be  better  and  wiser  than  other 
people.  (Philos  looks  straight  at  him.)  Now,  you 
take  a  leaf  out  of  my  book.  I  enjoy  hfe  !  I  take  the 
world  as  I  find  it,  and  a  damned  good  sort  of  a  world 
it  is  !  And  if  it's  good  enough  for  me,  why  isn't  it 
good  enough  for  you,  eh? 

Philos.  A  hen-roost  is  good  enough  for  fleas,  and 
a  dead  dog  for  blow-flies ;  but  this  world  is  not  good 
enough  for  me,  because  it  holds  men  like  you  ! 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  103 

Dick.     What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ? 

Philos  incomes  quickly  down  from  wifidow  and  stands 
face  to  face  with  Dick)  .  I've  saved  her  —  my  char- 
acter's gone  !  I'm  the  laughing-stock  of  the  country 
—  that's  nothing  !     Now  about  the  future  ! 

Dick.     Future?     Whose  future? 

Philos.  Her  future;  and  incomes  close  to  him), 
damn  you,  your  future,  if  it  has  to  do  with  hers  ! 

Dick  {pauses,  looks  at  Philos,  speaks  in  a  calm 
voice).     What  do  you  know? 

Philos.     I  saw  you  enter  her  window  last  night ! 

Dick.     You  saw  me  ! 

Philos.  And  heard  you  and  her  speak  of  a  poor 
fool  who  loved  her  !  Well,  you  see  what  this  poor 
fool  is  ready  to  do  for  her  ! 

Dick.     Yes. 

Philos.  Now  —  either  you  love  her  or  you  do  not. 
Her  reputation  is  safe.  If  you  don't  love  her  well 
enough  to  brave  all  fortunes  with  her,  so  that  she  may 
be  secure  whatever  happens,  take  your  oath  to  leave 
her  this  hour,  and  never  see  her  again  —  and  if  you 
break  that  oath,  by  God  !  I'll  kill  you  !  If  you  do 
love  her,  and  she  loves  you,  do  for  her  a  hundredth 
part  of  what  I'd  do,  make  your  love  your  religion,  put 
all  these  lies  behind  your  back,  own  her  openly  before 
all  the  world,  and  let  them  rave  their  tongues  out  ! 
You've  dared  to  do  wrong ;  dare  not  to  lie  about  it  ! 
Which  is  it  to  be  ? 

Dick  {after  a  long  pause,  very  calmly,  in  ordinary 


I04  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

tone).  Mr.  Ingarfield,  perhaps  you  won't  believe  me. 
Frankly,  I  should  tell  you  this  if  it  were  not  true ;  so 
take  your  choice  :  Mrs.  Greenslade  is  innocent. 

Philos.     Innocent  ? 

Dick.  She  saw  you,  spoke  to  you  last  night !  That 
saved  her  !     Do  you  believe  me? 

Philos  {looks  at  him  very  searchingly  for  a  few 
seconds).  Yes.  {Turns  very  inipei'atively .)  Then 
you'll  leave  her? 

Dick.  Yes  ;  this  morning.  And  you'll  allow  me 
to  put  Mr.  Palsam  right  about  — 

Philos.  It's  too  late  for  that.  He  believes  this 
tale ;  if  you  change  it,  you'll  rouse  his  suspicions,  and 
perhaps  she  will  be  sacrificed. 

Dick.     But  your  character? 

Philos.  My  life  is  ended.  I  care  no  more  for  life 
or  reputation  than  if  I  were  dead. 

Dick.  But  it's  monstrous  —  as  a  man  of  honour,  I 
really  cannot  — 

Philos  {interrupting  him  on  the  word  honour) .  As 
a  man  of  honour  —  let  me  be  ! 

(Dick  goes  to  table  at  back,  gets  his  hat,  comes 
doivn,  and  is  about  to  speak  to  Philos,  but 
is  overcome ;  walks  to  window.) 

Dick  {ashamed).     I've  behaved  like  a  blackguard  ! 

{Exit^ 

Philos  {seated  on  sofa  alo7ie).  All's  over  !  What 
am  I  waiting  for?  Still  hungering  for  her  footfall  or 
her  least  whisper  ! 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  105 

Enter  Worrell  at  back,  showing  in  Una,  who  brings 
a  spray  of  blighted  roses,  and  walks  down  stage  to 
Philos. 

Worrell.  Mrs.  Greenslade  is  engaged,  but  I'll  tell 
her  you're  here.  {Exit  at  back^ 

Una  {seeing  Philos;  looking  at  hini).  You  know  ! 
She  has  told  you  !  Ah  !  I  knew  I  should  find  you 
here  ! 

Philos.  I'm  waiting  to  see  Lord  Burnham — That's 
a  lie  !  I'm  waiting  because  I  can't  drag  myself  away 
from  her. 

Una  {coming  to  him) .  Where  have  you  been  through 
the  night? 

Philos.  I  don't  know  —  anywhere  !  Oh,  Una  ! 
{Looking  np  to  her  for  syjnpathy.) 

Una  {softly).  What  is  it?  (Philos  bursts  into 
tears.)     What  is  it  ?     Tell  me  !     Come,  tell  me  all ! 

Philos  {betwee7i  his  sobs) .    This  thing  —  this  dream 

—  this  sweetness  —  this  itwman  that  I  loved — oh, 
but  I  love  her  still !  —  she's  the  spring  of  every  pulse 
of  me  that  beats  —  she  plays  with  my  heart  as  the 
moon  plays  with  the  tides,  and  rolls  me  round  the 
earth  at  her  will  —  oh,  I  loved  her!  I  loved  her! 
And  I  love  her  still !  I'm  hers  !  I'm  hers  !  No  ! 
no  !    I  will  not  be  such   a  slave  !     I  will  forget  her 

—  I'll  —  I'll  —  {Birries  his  face  in  his  hands,  sob- 
bing^ 

Una   {standing  over  him,  stretching  out  her  anjis 


io6  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

towards  him,  aside) .  Won't  my  love  do  for  you  ! 
(  Conquers  herself;  speaks  to  him  again,  like  a  mother 
to  a  child.)  There  !  there  !  Cry  away  !  Shall  I  cry 
with  you?  Listen  !  I've  been  longing  for  the  moon 
for  years,  and  breaking  my  heart  because  I  can't  get 
it ;  and  the  moon  takes  no  notice  of  me  !  Do  you 
hear?  Am  I  not  a  baby,  to  long  for  the  moon? 
There  !  there  !  there  !  Cry,  child,  cry,  and  ease  your 
heart ! 

Philos  {partially  recovering,  looking  at  her  through 
his  tears).     Oh,  I'm  weak,  I'm  cowardly  ! 

Una.  Ah,  but  you'll  be  strong  by  and  bye  !  You'll 
be  master  of  yourself  as  you  have  never  been  before, 
and  you'll  set  your  face  like  flint  to  your  work  !  And 
then  you  won't  mind  losing  your  parsley  garland  ! 

Philos.     My  parsley  garland  ! 

Una.  Yes ;  we're  all  of  us  racing  for  parsley  gar- 
lands on  this  silly  earth.  What  does  it  matter  whether 
we  win  or  lose  ?  It's  only  a  few  parsley  leaves.  The 
prize  is  nothing  !  The  race  is  all !  Ah  !  (Laughing 
at  Imn.)  You're  better  !  A  heartache  isn't  much 
more  than  a  toothache,  is  it?  Will  you  come  and 
race  for  another  parsley  garland?  Will  you  make 
London  fit  to  live  in?  {Showing  him  the  roses.) 
Look! 

Philos.     Blighted  ! 

Una.  Yes ;  the  head  gardener  says  it's  no  use 
trying  to  grow  roses  here.  The  London  smoke  kills 
them. 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS 


107 


Philos.  That's  what  I've  been  trying  to  do.  I've 
been  trying  to  grow  roses  in  the  London  smoke. 

(Una  goes  up  stage. ) 

Lord  Burnham  enters. 

Lord  Burnham  {coming  towards  sofa) .  Mr.  Ingar- 
field,  Mrs.  Greenslade  consents  that  the  Greenslade 
bequest  be  appUed  to  the  claims  of  the  Costa  Rica 
Government. 

Philos.     Very  well. 

Lord  Burnham.  So  the  net  result  of  our  reform- 
ing London  is  a  revolution  in  South  America,  and 
twopence  on  the  income  tax. 

Enter  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  and  Palsam. 

Mrs.  Cam.     Now  you're  quite  satisfied  ? 
Palsam    {ajuiadly).     Oh,    quite  !     Send    for    Mrs. 
Greenslade,  and  let  me  make  an  ample  apology  ! 

Worrell  enters  at  back  with  large  parcel. 

Worrell  {coming  down  to  Mrs.  Campion-Blake 
with  the  parcel) .  A  parcel  for  you,  madam,  by  spe- 
cial messenger. 

Mrs.  Cam.  The  new  programme  !  Let  the  mes- 
senger wait.  {Opening parcel.)  And  tell  Mrs.  Green- 
slade that  Mr.  Palsam  wishes  to  see  her  here. 

(  Exit  Worrell  . ) 

Mrs.   Cam.   {opens  the  parcel,  and  brings  out  the 


io8  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

new  programme ,  a  gorgeous  blue  satin  affair,  with  gold 
letters.     Displaying  it) .     Isn't  it  perfectly  exquisite  ? 

X-ORD  BuRNHAM.     Very  pretty  pattern  ! 

Una.     What's  it  for? 

Mrs.  Cam.  It's  the  new  programme  for  reforming 
London. 

Una.  Oh,  I  see ;  you're  going  to  cover  London 
with  blue  satin,  so  that  Londoners  may  get  an  idea  of 
what  the  sky  is  like  !  {^Exit  at  window.) 

Cynthia  enters  very  slowly. 

(Philos  turns  round ;   their  eyes  meet ;  she 
shows  great  shame ;  her  eyes  drop.) 
Cynthia.     You  asked  to  see  me,  Mr.  Palsam. 
Palsam.     I'm  very  proud    to  acknowledge  that  I 
was  entirely  mistaken.     I   have   discovered   the   real 
offender.     Mr.  Ingarfield    (Dick   eiiters  at  window), 
you  will  acknowledge   your   hypocrisy   in  the  fullest 
terms  ? 

Cynthia.  What  !  (Looks  enquiringly  at  Mrs.  Cam- 
pion-Blake.) (Philos  looks  at  Dick.) 

Palsam.  I  shall  exact  from  you,  sir,  a  public  con- 
fession in  the  same  terms  as  this.     (Showing  letter.) 

Cynthia.  Confession  ?  Give  that  to  me  !  (Looks 
at  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  enquiringly.  To  Mrs.  Blake.) 
What  have  you  done  ? 

(Philos  and  Dick  look  at  each  other.  Cyn- 
thia reads  the  letter,  shows  great  indigna- 
tion.') 


ACT  III  THE  CRUSADERS  109 

Mrs.  Cam.  My  dear  —  of  course  —  you  had  no 
idea  —  it's  surprised  you  ! 

Cynthia  {havuig  read  letter  with  the  deepest  shame 
and  indignation).  Oh!  {Tears  it  up  in  g?'eat 
anger  ^ 

Mrs.  Cam.  Take  care  !  What  are  you  doing? 
You've  ruined  yourself ! 

Cynthia.     No  ;  I  think  I've  saved  myself ! 

Palsam.     Why  did  you  tear  that  confession? 

Cynthia.     Because  it's  false  ! 

Palsam.     False  !     Then  what  am  I  to  believe  ? 

Cynthia.     Believe  what  you  please  ! 

Palsam.     If  I  thought  you  were  guilty  — 

Cynthia.  If  you  thought  I  were  guilty,  you  would 
blacken  me  !  Spy  !  spy  !  spy  !  Blacken  me,  then  ! 
Lord  Burnham,  I  am  innocent !  Defend  me  against 
this  man  !  {Looks  up,  meets  Philos's  eyes,  covers  her 
face  with  her  hands,  bows  her  head,  uttei's  a  cry  of  the 
greatest  shame,  rushes  off  in  an  agony  of  shame.) 

{Pause.      Philos  goes    to   door  after  her  ; 
stands  thei'e  watching.) 

Lord  Burnham.  You  hear,  sir  !  You're  evidently 
mistaken ;  and  if  this  tale  is  made  public,  all  that  is 
certain  to  be  proved  is  that  you  have  tried  to  ruin  a 
lady's  reputation.  You'll  gain  nothing  by  making  a 
scandal.     You'll  be  best  to  hold  your  tongue. 

Palsam  {after  a  pause).  I'll  keep  silence  on  one 
condition. 

Lord  Burnham.     Well? 


no  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Palsam.  My  lord,  you  are  addicted  to  horse-racing. 
I'll  never  mention  this  painful  affair  if  you'll  promise 
to  sell  your  horses,  and  promise  never  — 

Lord  Burnham  {jvith  a  contemptuous  laugh,  turns 
away).     No  ;  I'm  damned  if  I  do  ! 

Palsam.  Then  I'm  very  sorry  I  shall  be  compelled 
to  make  it  public. 

Dick.     Make  what  pubhc? 

Palsam.     What  I  saw  last  night. 

Dick.     What  did  you  see  ? 

Palsam.     I  saw  Mr.  Ingarfield  at  that  balcony. 

Dick  {aside  to  Philos).     Why  don't  you  speak? 

Philos  {looks  at  Dick  and  Palsam).  I've  nothing 
to  say.     {Goes  to  dack.) 

Dick.     It's  false  !     Mr.  Palsam,  you  saw  me  ! 

Palsam.     You  ? 

Lord  Burnham.     Dick  ! 

Dick.     My  honour,  sir,  Mrs.  Greenslade  is  innocent 

—  save  her,  sir  !    (  Very  appealingly  to  Lord  Burnham.) 

{Pause.     Lord  Burnham,  perplexed,  walks 

up  toivards  Mrs.  Campion-Blake,  who  has 

been  listefting  to  foregoing  scene.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  {to  him).  She'd  much  better  have  kept 
to  the  truth  as  I  had  arranged  it ! 

Lord  Burnham  {to  Palsam).  You'll  hold  your 
tongue  if  I  sell  my  stud  and  give  up  racing? 

Palsam.     Yes. 

Lord  Burnham.  Very  well ;  I'll  do  it!  {Coining 
a  step  or  two  towards  Dick.     Dick  takes  Lord  Burn- 


ACT  III  THE  CRUSADERS  iii 

ham's  hajidj  wrings  it  heartily,  exchanges  a  look  with 
Philos,  and  goes  off  at  windoiv.)  And  if  I  ever  hear 
one  word  against  this  lady  — 

Palsam.     Oh,  you  won't !    I've  given  you  my  word, 
and  I  ahvays  speak  the  truth. 

Lord  Burnham.  And  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  you've 
acted  the  part  of  a  busy-body,  mischief-maker,  and 
scandal-monger,  and  the  sooner  you  leave  this  house 
the  better.  {Drives  the  words  home  into  Palsam,  and 
then  goes  calmly  afid  sits  on  sofa.) 

(^Pause.    Palsam  stands  itftperturbable  in  the 
middle  of  the  stage.) 
Palsam.     My  lord,  there's  one  thing  more  before 
we  part. 

Lord  Burnham  {angrily).  Well? 
Palsam.  You  have  never  shown  any  real  interest 
in  the  reformation  of  London.  (Lord  Burnham 
shows  great  impatience.)  There  is  to  be  a  great 
temperance  fete  at  the  Crystal  Palace  next  month. 
Now,  you  have  a  cellar  of  very  expensive  wines.  It 
would  be  a  noble  and  graceful  action  on  your  part  if 
you  would  consent  to  preside  at  the  Crystal  Palace, 
and  pubhcly  pour  away  all  your  expensive  wines  into 
the  gutter  — 

(Lord  Burnham  rises  enraged;  goes  up  to 
Palsam  with  a  threatening  gesture.     Pal- 
sam remains  quite  cahn.     Lord  Burnham 
makes  an  effort  to  speak,  looks  at  Palsam, 
finally  comes  away  and  drops  on  to  sofa.) 


112  THE   CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Lord  Burnham  {helplessly,  in  a  low  voice).  Will 
somebody  take  it  away  ! 

Palsam.  I'm  going,  my  lord.  {Lea7is  over  back 
of  sofa,  and  speaks  in  Lord  Burnham 's/^^r*?.)  I'll  call 
to-morrow  at  your  town  house  for  your  decision  about 
the  Crystal  Palace.     Good-morning  ! 

{Exit  at  window.) 

Mrs.  Cam.  Lord  Burnham  !  (Lord  Burnham  looks 
up.)  I  don't  blame  you  ;  but  I  never  knew  anything 
so  mismanaged  as  this  reformation  of  London  !  I've 
been  connected  with  bazaars  and  charities  of  all  sorts, 
and  I've  always  made  them  most  successful !  And 
I'm  quite  sure  I  could  have  made  this  reformation  of 
London  a  gigantic  success  ! 

Lord  Burnham.  Then  take  it,  my  dear  lady,  take 
it,  and  make  it  a  gigantic  success  !  I  don't  want  to 
reform  London  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.  {growing  7noi'e  indignant;  7ings  bell). 
And  it's  sure  to  get  into  the  papers  —  and  after  all  I've 
done  !    However,  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  affair  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     So  do  I  !  so  do  I  ! 

Mrs.  Cam.     I  never  was  so  annoyed  in  my  life  — 

Worrell  enters  at  door  right. 

{  With  great  dignity.)  Tell  Mrs.  Greenslade  I  leave 
for  town  by  the  next  train.  {Going  up  stage,  turns.) 
Tell  Mrs.  Greenslade  that  the  Duchess  of  Launceston 
and  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  resign  their  places  on  the 
committee  !  (Worrell  exits.) 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  113 

{Pause.  Mrs.  Campion-Blake  stalks  rip  to 
door  at  back,  opens  it,  turns,  stalks  back 
to  table,  takes  up  the  blue  satin  programme, 
goes  back  same  style.  Exit  with  great 
offe7ided  dignity,  carrying  the  blue  satin 
programme.^ 
Lord  Burnham  {7'egretfully).  And  I  was  fond  of 
a  bit  of  racing  ! 

Una  enters  window.     Philos  comes  dow?i. 

{Rising.)  Heigho  !  I'm  afraid,  Miss  Dell,  there  is 
no  way  of  mending  society. 

Una.  If  everybody  mended  himself,  Lord  Burn- 
ham,  society  wouldn't  want  any  mending. 

Lord  Burnham.  Ah  !  but  who's  going  to  begin  ? 
{Meeting  Philos,  who  is  coming  dow7i.)  Mr.  Ingar- 
field,  I  did  you  an  injustice.  ( Offering  hand,  Philos 
takes  it.)  You  must  come  with  me  to  town,  and  we'll 
get  this  Costa  Rica  affair  settled. 

Cynthia  enters. 

{Seeing  Cynthia,  hurrying  to  window^  I'll  see  if 
my  carriage  is  ready.  (  Goes  up  to  back,  into  window^ 
Cynthia  {walking  towards  Philos  with  the  deepest 
shame) .  I  can't  say  anything  !  Can  you  forgive  me  ? 
(Philos  ^^7£' J.)     You'll  forget  me  ? 

(Philos  looks  at  her  and  shakes  his  head. 
He  goes  frofu  her,  and  throws  himself  on 
sofa.) 

I 


114  THE  CRUSADERS  act  hi 

Cynthia  {going  to  Una)  .  I  have  broken  his  heart ! 
Help  me  to  heal  it !  Help  me  to  give  him  cour- 
age ! 

Una  {co77ies  down  to  Philos,  tries  to  assume  a  bright , 
cheerful  to7ie).  Come,  comrade  !  though  we  women 
are  false,  the  world  must  wag,  and  we  must  help  it ! 
Come  !  your  work  !  {Laying  her  ha7id  07i  his 
shoulder^ 

Philos  {risi7ig,  bewildered,  drea77iy) .  My  work  ! 
What  work  ? 

Una.  To  make  London  beautiful !  London  healthy  ! 
London  clean !  From  north  to  south,  from  east  to 
west,  in  every  street,  in  every  home  ! 

Lord  Burnham.     What  madness  ! 

Una.  Oh,  yes ;  it's  madness  !  Century  after  cen- 
tury the  same  mad  chase,  the  same  mad  dream  !  We 
hunt  for  what  we  shall  never  find,  we  dream  what  will 
never  come  true.  We  know  it ;  but  still  we  pursue, 
and  still  we  dream  !  Our  Dulcinea  is  always  false,  but 
we  always  think  her  true ;  we  give  our  strength  for 
a  parsley  garland ;  we  drain  Europe  of  its  flower  of 
manhood  to  buy  a  little  sacred  spot  in  Jerusalem  ;  we 
ride  shameless  through  Coventry ;  we  spill  our  blood 
like  water  for  the  Stuarts ;  we  send  Paris,  red  with 
butchery,  dancing  after  liberty,  equality,  fraternity ; 
we  tilt  at  every  windmill,  we  dash  ourselves  on  every 
pike  !  Oh,  you  are  right !  We  are  mad  enough  ! 
But  our  madness  keeps  the  world  alive  !     Your  sanity 


ACT  III  THE   CRUSADERS  115 

stagnates !     Our  madness   breeds   your   ideals ;    and 
you're  dead,  you're  dead,  you're  dead  without  ideals  ! 

{Exit  Lord  Burnhari  at  zvindow.) 
{To   Philos.)     Come   along!     Let   the  past  alone! 
Begin  afresh  to-day  !     Come  ! 

Philos  {rises,  with  face  full  of  fr solve).  I  will ; 
and  I'll  never  look  behind  till  my  work  is  done  !  {To 
Cynthia.)     Good-bye ! 

Cynthia.     Good-bye  ! 

Philos  {turns  back,  beseechingly^.  Give  me  that 
kiss  you  promised  me  !  {She  kisses  his  forehead.) 
Can't  you  love  me  ? 

Cynthia.  You  saved  me  !  Do  with  me  as  you 
please  !     {She  drops  at  his  feet.) 

(Una  looks  at  the?n,  then  goes  off  hopelessly 
at  door  at  back.) 

Curtain.  


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR. 


SAINTS  AND  SINNERS: 

A   NEW   ORIGINAL   DRAMA 

OF 

MODERN  ENGLISH  MIDDLE-CLASS  LIFE. 

IN  FIVE  ACTS. 

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British  Colonies.  With  perfect  candor  he  tells  of  his 
early  studies,  his  teachers  in  England  and  Italy,  the 
artists  and  other  friends  he  met,  his  debuts  in  concert, 
opera,  and  oratorio,  his  struggles,  —  often  in  poverty,  — 
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THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 

IN    CONNECTION    WITH    THE 

STUDY    OF    CHARACTER,    THE    SPIRIT    OF 
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(2) 


THE  WORKS  OF 

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Utility  has  long  been  exclusively  worshipped.  The 
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that  worship  these  pages  are  devoted,  with  all  that  im- 
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WANDERERS ; 

BEING 

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"  But  it  has  seemed  to  the  author  of  these  poems  — 
which  of  course  are  offered  as  absolutely  impersonal 
—  that  they  are  the  expression  of  various  representative 
moods  of  human  feeling  and  various  representative 
aspects  of  human  experience,  and  that  therefore  they 
may  possibly  possess  the  inherent  right  to  exist."  — 
From  the  Preface. 

"  The  verse  of  Mr.  Winter  is  dedicated  mainly  to 
love  and  wine,  to  flowers  and  birds  and  dreams,  to  the 
hackneyed  and  never-to-be-exhausted  repertory  of  the 
old  singers.  His  instincts  are  strongly  conservative;  his 
confessed  aim  is  to  belong  to  '  that  old  school  of  English 
Lyrical  Poetry,  of  which  gentleness  is  the  soul,  and 
simplicity  the  garment.'  " —  Saturday  Review. 

"  The  poems  have  a  singular  charm  in  their  graceful 
spontaneity."  —  Scots  Observer. 

"Free  from  cant  and  rant  —  clear  cut  as  a  cameo, 
pellucid  as  a  mountain  brook.  It  may  be  derided  as 
trite,  borne,  unimpassioned;  but  in  its  own  modest 
sphere  it  is,  to  our  thinking,  extraordinarily  successful, 
and  satisfies  us  far  more  than  the  pretentious  mouthing 
which  receives  the  seal  of  over-hasty  approbation."  — 
AthencEutn. 

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Shadows   of  the  Stage. 

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"  The  fame  of  the  actor  more  than  that  of  any 
other  artist  is  an  evanescent  one  —  a  'bubble 
reputation'  —  indeed,  and  necessarily  so  from 
the  conditions  under  which  his  genius  is  exer- 
cised. While  the  impression  it  makes  is  often 
more  vivid  and  inspiring  for  the  moment  than 
that  of  the  poet  and  the  painter,  it  vanishes  almost 
with  the  occasion  which  gave  it  birth,  and  lives 
only  as  a  tradition  in  the  memory  of  those  to 
whom  it  had  immediately  appealed.  '  Shadows 
they  are,  and  shadows  they  pursue.' 

"  The  writer,  therefore,  who,  gifted  with  insight 
and  a  poetic  enthusiasm  which  enables  him  to 
discern  on  the  one  hand  the  beauties  in  a  dra- 
matic work  not  perceived  by  the  many,  and  on  the 
other  the  qualities  in  the  actor  which  have  made 
him  a  true  interpreter  of  the  poet's  thought,  at 
the  same  time  possessing  the  faculty  of  revealing 
to  us  felicitously  the  one,  and  the  other  is  cer- 
tainly entitled  to  our  grateful  recognition. 

"  Such  a  writer  is  Mr.  William  Winter,  easily 
the  first,  —  for  we  know  of  none  other  living  in 
this  country,  or  in  the  England  he  loves  so  much, 
in  whose  nature  the  critic's  vision  is  united  with 
that  of  the  poet  so  harmoniously.  .  .  . 

"  Over  and  above  all  this,  there  is  in  these  writ- 
ings the  same  charm  of  style,  poetic  glamour  and 
flavor  of  personality  which  distinguish  whatever 
comes  to  us  from  Mr.  Winter's  pen,  and  which 
make  them  unique  in  our  literature."  —  Home 
Journal,  New  York. 


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(3) 


OLD  SHRINES  AND  IVY. 

i8mo,  Cloth,  75  Cents. 


CONTENTS. 

SHRINES  OF  HISTORY. 
I.    Storied  Southampton, 
n.    Pageantry  and  Relics. 

III.  The  Shakespeare  Church. 

IV.  A  Stratford  Chronicle. 
V.    From  London  to  Dover. 

VI.  Beauties  of  France. 

VII.  Ely  and  its  Cathedral. 

VIII.  From  Edinburgh  to  Inverness. 

IX.  The  Field  of  Culloden. 

X.  Stormbound  Zona. 

SHRINES   OF  LITERATURE. 
XI,    The  Forest  of  Arden  :  As  You  Like  It. 
XII.    Fairy  Land:  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

XIII.  "Will  0'  the  Wisp:  Love's  Labour  Lost. 

XIV.  Shakespeare's  Shrew. 

XV.  A  Mad  "World:  Anthony  and  Cleopatra. 

XVI.  Sheridan,  and  the  School  for  Scandal. 

XVII.  Farquhar,  and  the  Inconstant. 

XVIII.  Longfellow. 

XIX.  A  Thought  on  Cooper's  Novels. 

XX.  A  Man  of  Letters:  John  R.  G.  Hassard. 

"  Whatever  William  Winter  writes  is  marked  by  felic- 
ity of  diction  and  by  refinement  of  style,  as  well  as  by 
the  evidence  of  culture  and  wide  reading.  '  Old  Shrines 
and  Ivy'  is  an  excellent  example  of  the  charm  of  his 
work."  —  Boston  Courier. 


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(4) 


SHAKESPEARE'S 

ENGLAND. 

i8mo,  Cloth,  75  Cents. 


"...  It  was  the  author's  wish,  in  dwelling  thus 
upon  the  rural  loveliness,  and  the  literary  and  historical 
associations  of  that  delightful  realm,  to  afford  sympa- 
thetic guidance  and  useful  suggestion  to  other  Ameri- 
can travellers  who,  like  himself,  might  be  attracted  to 
roam  among  the  shrines  of  the  mother-land.  Tempera- 
ment is  the  explanation  of  style;  and  he  has  written 
thus  of  England  because  she  has  filled  his  mind  with 
beauty  and  his  heart  with  mingled  joy  and  sadness; 
and  surely  some  memory  of  her  venerable  ruins,  her 
ancient  shrines,  her  rustic  glens,  her  gleaming  rivers, 
and  her  flower-spangled  meadows  will  mingle  with  the 
last  thoughts  that  glimmer  through  his  brain  when  the 
shadows  of  the  eternal  night  are  falling  and  the  ramble 
of  life  is  done."  —  From  the  Preface. 

"  He  offers  something  more  than  guidance  to  the 
American  traveller.  He  is  a  convincing  and  eloquent 
interpreter  of  the  august  memories  and  venerable  sanc- 
tities of  the  old  country."  —  Saturday  Review. 

"  The  book  is  delightful  reading."  —  Scribner's 
Monthly. 

"  Enthusiastic  and  yet  keenly  critical  notes  and  com- 
ments on  English  life  and  scenery."  —  Scotsman, 


MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

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(5) 


GRAY    DAYS 

AND    GOLD. 

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CONTENTS. 

Classic  Shrines. 

Haunted  Glens  and  Houses. 
The  Haunts  of  Moore.  Old  York. 

Beautiful  Bath. 

The  Lakes  and  Fells  of  Wordsworth. 
Shakespeare  Relics  at  Worcester. 

Byron  and  Hucknall  Torkard. 

Historic  Nooks  and  Corners. 
Up  and  Down  the  Avon.  Shakespeare's  Town 

Rambles  in  Arden. 

The  Stratford  Fountain. 
Bosworth  Field. 

The  Home  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
From  London  to  Edinburgh. 
Into  the  Highlands. 

Highland  Beauties. 

The  Heart  of  Scotland. 
Elegiac  Memorials.  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Scottish  Pictures. 

Imperial  Ruins. 

The  Land  of  Marmion. 

At  Vesper  Time. 

This  book,  which  is  intended  as  a  companion  to 
Shakespeare's  England,  relates  to  the  gray  days  of  an 
American  wanderer  in  the  British  Isles,  and  to  the  gold 
of  thought  and  fancy  that  can  be  found  there. 


MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

112  Fourth  Avenue,  NEW  YORK. 

(6) 


GRAY    DAYS 

AND    QOLD. 

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PRESS    NOTICES. 

"  Mr.  Winter's  graceful  and  meditative  style  in  his 
English  sketches  has  recommended  his  earlier  volume 
upon  (Shakespeare's)  England  to  many  readers,  who 
will  not  need  urging  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  this 
companion  book,  in  which  the  traveller  guides  us 
through  the  quiet  and  romantic  scenery  of  the  mother- 
country  with  a  mingled  affection  and  sentiment  of 
which  we  have  had  no  example  since  Irving's  day."  — 
The  Nation. 

"  As  friendly  and  good-humoured  a  book  on  English 
scenes  as  any  American  has  written  since  Washington 
Irving." —  Daily  News,  London. 

"  Much  that  is  bright  and  best  in  our  literature  is 
brought  once  more  to  our  dulled  memories.  Indeed, 
we  know  of  but  few  volumes  containing  so  much  of 
observation,  kindly  comment,  philosophy,  and  artistic 
weight  as  this  unpretentious  little  book."  —  Chicago 
Herald. 

"  They  who  have  never  visited  the  scenes  which  Mr. 
Winter  so  charmingly  describes  will  be  eager  to  do  so 
in  order  to  realize  his  fine  descriptions  of  them,  and  they 
who  have  already  visited  them  will  be  incited  by  his 
eloquent  recital  of  their  attractions  to  repeat  their 
former  pleasant  experiences."  —  Public  Ledger, 
Philadelphia. 


MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

112  Fourth  Avenue,  NEW  YORK. 

(7) 


IN  THE  PRESS, 


i8mo,   Cloth,   75  Cents. 

Shadows  of  the  Stage, 


SECOND   SERIES. 


BY 


WILLIAM   WINTER. 


"Mr.  Winter  has  long  been  known  as  the 
foremost  of  American  dramatic  critics,  as  a 
writer  of  very  charming  verse,  and  as  a  mas- 
ter in  the  lighter  veins  of  English  prose."  — 
Chicago  Herald. 


MACMILLAN  &  CO., 

112  Fourth  Avenue,  NEW  YORK 

(8) 


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